


A New Taste of Love

by empires, salvadore



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: #rarepair steve rogersxflorence nightingale, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 23:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12641253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empires/pseuds/empires, https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvadore/pseuds/salvadore
Summary: Dick and Jason don't think they're in love, but the universe (and Klarion's magic) begs to differ.Featuring: many Dicks. Multi dimensions! SOULMATES? Zero robots. And kissing,so much kissing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Created for the DCU Big Bang 2017  
> Beta work by volavi, pentapoda, and murderousdeer. Thank you all so much for your hard-work, we couldn't have done this without you. 
> 
> Art featured throughout was created by amberdreams, you can find the masterpost [here](https://amberdreams.livejournal.com/529964.html) as well as sketches and notes on the process.

 

 

 

The crawling traffic on the the A-18 to Bludhaven doesn’t stop Jason from weaving through the vehicles on his black motorcycle. Nothing will stop him in this pursuit, one that is the culmination of a week that saw the Red Hood cracking down on three sweatshops distributing knock-off apparel and a sin den so grotesque, Jason had to burn his costume just to feel clean again. When he knocked heads looking for a line to the top, the name Bobby Lido fell from everybody’s mouth. And now, Bobby Lido is hunkered down on his crotch rocket less than a mile ahead of Jason.

Bobby was surprisingly resilient, managing to outrun Jason in the backstreets of Gotham for more than a day. But he made the mistake of trying to escape to another city. Jason knows Bludhaven too.

“You’re not getting away this time,” Jason mutters.

Overhead, green interstate signs appear, counting down the miles to a place that’s seedier than Gotham City, more corrupt, more grim. Even the sky seems to know it. It’s four in the afternoon and bright and sunny in Gotham. The clouds are rolling in here turning the wide, blue sky a particular shade of dingy that never fades. The wet salt smell from the bay turns sour with pollution, water, air, sound, light; you name it, it’s there dimming the air. And Jason’s pretty sure that seagull flying by just flipped him off.

Bludhaven is Nightwing’s city. He can keep it.

The distance behind Bobby dwindles. Six-hundred feet to five, four, three, and Jason’s thinking he’s going to swing into the ‘Haven, grab his twisted little prize and sail out without Dick being the wiser.

There's been a disturbing uptick in encounters between Red Hood and Nightwing. They always end in an impassioned plea from Dick to take off his helmet and stay awhile, reminisce about all the good times they never shared. Jason’s not sure what he hates more: the fact that Dick can’t take the hint, or that something inside still wants to leap at the chance to work with Nightwing, to talk with Nightwing.

Of all the parts that came back with Jason, he wishes that hero worship would’ve stayed in the grave.

Ahead, Bobby’s bike skirts between two eighteen wheelers in a desperate bid to reach the freeway. Jason twists the throttle and rockets after him. He swings out to the far-left lane, the fast lane, and knocks down another few feet. Bobby twists his head behind him every few seconds searching for the Big Bad Hood.

Jason’s grin unfurls beneath his mask. “That’s another mistake, Bobby. You just keep making them.” He shifts in his seat, unholstering his gun when his comm channel beeps in his ear. It’s not the good kind of beep, not the personal tones for Roy or Artemis, but an incoming message from the batclan.

“Nightwing to Red Hood.”

Ahead of him, Bobby unholsters a gun and points it shakily over his shoulder.

“Not now, Nightwing.” The targeting reticle swims ahead of Jason’s eyes, a clean white circle that dissects Lido’s body for him. Jason blinks turning the targeting off, and rises on his bike, arm extended. One squeeze of the trigger and Bobby’s gun goes flying out of his hand.

“Come on, Hood.” And Nightwing’s voice has that cheerful lilt that usually means he needs something. It makes Jason’s stomach swoop, and it pisses him off. He twists the throttle, revving the engine and giving the motorcycle a burst of speed. As if he could outrun this conversation.

“I’ve been working on a lead, and I could use your help with the intel,” Nightwing says.

“Busy, Wing. But if I check my calendar,” Jason pauses as he darts between two cars, “I can fit you in the Tuesday after never.”

“We’ve been working so well together lately, Jay. I’m hurt.”

“You’ll live.”

Nightwing hums like it’s debatable. “You owe me one, Hood.”

Jason winces. He hates that he can’t quite brush that one off. Nightwing had helped Jason out of a tight situation the last time they crossed paths, swooping through a boarded window before Jason could be skewered. Then there was the time before that when Jason had been underwater choking on his last breath when Dick appeared, a white-eyed sea creature breaking his bonds and carrying him to shore. And the time before that, and the time before that. His memories of the past few months are nothing but Nightwing swinging in to save him like some do-gooding angel. And he’s right. Jason does owe him.

“Yeah, sure, I owe you one. But can we raincheck this for real, Dickie? I’m busy.”

Dick lets it pass. “Where are you right now? If it’s work related, I could help.”

“Nah. I’m spot checking some things around Gotham. You wouldn’t be interested.” Jason knows it’s the wrong thing to say when he hears a speeding cycle winding up from his left. Nightwing pulls beside him. Probably grinning behind his helmet. The bastard.

“In a hurry to catch up with Bobby Lido, huh?” The smug tone in Dick’s voice makes Jason’s palms itch and he tightens his hands on the throttle.

“I told you I was busy.”

Rather than point out how he’d caught Jason in a lie, Dick shoots past him blurring through traffic. The city roadways open up in Dick’s mind. The brightly lit map represents all the time Dick has spent on the streets from dusk to dawn to dusk again. And with them comes a plan.

“If we get Lido to exit off at 50-B, we can block him out using the construction on Williams,” Dick says. “You know Claremont and Fitz?”

Dick tosses the street names at him like Jason patrols here regularly and is up to date on the potholes that pit Bludhaven’s shitty roadways. And he is, but that doesn’t mean Jason likes the casual familiarity of his words. Or the idea of Nightwing swooping in on his operation.

“That’s where the Cheetah Girls handed your ass to you, right?”

“No.” Dick says the word easily, but Jason hears the same tone Dick’s held in his voice when Jason was fourteen, like he’s indulging the brat before moving on to important things.

“We can push him to the alley between Claremont and Fitz. It’s closed off, and the building to the left is under foreclosure. Sealed up tight. Enclosed space. No civilians. Easy take down. Come on, Jay.” Dick’s voice is cajoling all over again. “You have to admit it’s a good plan.”

Jason’s lip curls. “Fine. But I’m taking him back to Gotham.”

Dick’s laughter burns through him. He zips out in front of Jason, trusting that Jason is with him and leads a weaving path through traffic. Forcing Jason to follow.

The Nightwing cycle is bright blue and, while Jason can blend in, Dick’s ops vehicle screams vigilante. It’s been his brand since he backflipped into being Batman’s partner. It’s impossible to lose sight of him. His speed-racing on Bludhaven’s streets must be a common occurrence because Dick moves with the flow of the traffic; as much as it looks reckless, the other vehicles on the road don’t touch him. It usually rubs Jason raw, the brightness of Dick’s whole brand, but today he’s hot on Dick’s trail while he slides dangerously across lanes to herd Bobby toward the right junction.

They’re silent on the comms, but when they get close Dick indicates a turn, and Jason is right behind him.

In the end, Bobby is no match against the two of them partnered up. Bobby veers abruptly into the alley like they wanted. He has to turn the whole bike to come to a sudden stop. He looks around at the high walls of the alley and buildings, and seems to realize that there is no escape. At the mouth of the alley, Dick and Jason pull in side by side, blocking the only exit.

“All yours, Hood,” Dick calls, loud enough for even Lido to hear. And as Jason disembarks, Dick gives him a small salute.

Jason pulls a glock from his shoulder holster and cocks it. The sound echoes in the narrow alley. “You sure about that? I mean, we are in your city.” Jason makes his first mistake of the day turning back to gloat. Dick has that grin on his face, lazy and slow.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Dick leans over the handlebars of his idling bike, his body a long line that draws Jason’s eye like nothing else ever could. “I like watching you work.”

It’s the kind of thing that makes Jason’s mouth dry up and his stomach flip, but just as quickly, he squelches the reaction. He’s not going to be one of those people who fall to their knees groveling for Dick Grayson’s attention. Jason focuses on the harsh breaths at the end of the alley. He’s got a job to do and a city to get back to.

“End of the line, Lido,” Jason calls. His words come out rough though.

Bobby lifts his hands in a placating, surrendering gesture. Maybe he’s heard enough rumors about the Red Hood to know better than to cheat his way out now. But more likely, he can hear the growl to Jason’s words, his frustration at Dick, himself, and not-so-long dead crushes audible. At least it scares Bobby enough to answer his questions.

The rest goes easily, Jason falls into the Red Hood routine and gets details on people Bobby has on retainer as well as his own employers. It’s enough to crack open the whole case he’s been working on. He’s just getting the zip-ties on Bobby when Dick has to step in again.

“Police are en route, Hood,” Dick calls. When Jason looks up at him, Dick adds, “I called O while you were occupied.”

And he smiles at Jason like intervening was some big favor, another one to hold over Jason’s head while he gets to play the big hero. Jason doesn’t know if Dick expects him to gloss over his earlier request to take Bobby back to Gotham and graciously thank Dick for his help, or if he just doesn’t care. It’s a patented Batman move to pull the case out of “inexperienced” hands and take them over. And how many times had Jason heard Dick yell at Bruce for doing exactly that? Jason is livid.

“So this is what Nightwing does now? Bounty hunter for the BPD?” Jason asks, biting back what he really wants to say, how he wants to call Dick out to his face for acting like Bruce. But they have company and Jason can already hear the rumors about a Red Hood and Nightwing partnership that will make their way to Gotham’s underworld. No need to pull Batman into it.

“What are you talking about?”

“I said I was taking Lido back to Gotham.”

“He tried to open fire on you, and he endangered Bludhaven citizens while operating a stolen vehicle. BPD is going to be after him if I called them or not. And they’ll be after you too, Hood, if you take him back to Gotham.”

Jason tries not to boil over at the irony of Dick talking about reckless driving.

“This guy has money and some kind of reach, N. He'll be out by tomorrow morning.”

Dick is genuine when he smiles and says, “Oh, I don't know about that. Not when he knows that Red Hood is out there waiting for him.” He kneels beside Lido and helps him upright. "Isn't that right, Bobby?"

Jason shoves his weapon back within his jacket. “I could do a lot more with his fear in Gotham. Where his suppliers and clients actually are.”

Dick looks at him now, quizzical and brow furrowed, as if he’s just getting how mad he’s made Jason. He stands up and approaches Jason, leans in close enough that his breath is hot against Jason’s neck. “Why are you upset about this?” Dick asks under his breath, keeping this at least away from prying ears.

Jason slaps his helmet’s release lock. The faceplate folds back revealing his angry face behind a domino mask. “I’m on a timeclock with this operation, Wing-brain,” Jason hisses. “Some things can’t wait months to be turned over. Why don’t you go back to wasting time in a losing battle against corruption in the BPD?”

Dick reacts minutely to the words, the smallest flinch like he’d be anticipating a physical blow and had intended to duck out of the way. Except it hadn’t come.

“You don’t know this city,” Dick says. Deadly serious.

Jason laughs angrily. “Oh, baby, ‘Haven and me go way back. I know it like I know you too,” he hisses. “Like how you’re always running after lost causes.”

He targets the weakness in Dick’s resolve, and the way he snapped back at Jason. Dick has a reputation for being the easy-going partner to Bruce, but Jason knows the anger lying under the surface.

No one who meets Nightwing now would believe he even had a temper. Over the years, Dick has gotten better at masking it, but Jason has seen it at it’s most explosive. He’ll never forget the last time he saw Dick drive away from the cave, weeks before Jason would die, teeth set in a bitter smile as he told Bruce off.

Tension surges between them. Jason finds himself stepping close so he can loom over Dick, who straightens, preparing for a fight. Good, Jason thinks, he’s ready for one and fighting is always so good with Nightwing. Maybe it’s because he was there before, but Jason knows what buttons to push. Knows how to drag him down like an anchor around Dick’s ankle. Drawing him from the placid shallows into the depths of Dick’s anger. He has a list of things to bring up, like that night, years ago, when Jason had returned from his training in east Asia and was in Bludhaven trying to score some quick cash.

He plans to remind Dick, but Dick cuts Jason off.

“Stop. There’s a broadcast over the comms.” His glove is so close to Jason’s lips he can almost feel the nomex weave.

Dick springs into action shoving Lido against a bricked doorway. “It’s Robin,” he says, leaping up to drag a fire escape ladder to the ground and starts securing Lido it it. “The Titans are in Gotham, and they need help.”

Jason follows Dick’s movements feeling dazed, like he’d been running full tilt only to crash into a glass door. “What the hell does this have to do with me?”

“You owe me, Hood.” Dick spears Jason with a look he can feel through those white-eyed lenses and his own helmet. “Now let’s go.”

“It’ll take forty minutes to make it back to Gotham. Thirty-five, tops!” It’s a weak protest but it’s the only one he has right now.

Dick grins. “I bet we can make it in twenty.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dick crests the hill astride the Night-cycle with Jason roaring just behind him. They disembark under the thirty-minute mark, and Dick stows his helmet, quickly absorbing the scene.

White lightning streaks the purple cloudbank. Skyscrapers float a foot above the ground. Glowing magical creatures stalk through the air. And the city’s denizens file in neatly ordered lines to their nearest crisis shelter. Just an average Tuesday afternoon in Gotham.

Jason frowns at the signs of order and chaos working around each other. “What’s causing this?”

Dick points towards the cross street where a pale-skinned boy dressed like a pilgrim flies by, shouting, “You Titans can’t stop me!”

“If I had to put money on it, I’d say him,” Dick says. A fond grin crosses his lips when Wonder Girl swoops down in pursuit.

“You say that all the time, Klarion,” she says. “And we do. Literally every time, we stop you.”

Klarion whirls towards her, consternation crossing his sharp features. His foot stomps the air petulantly. “You sound so smug, but I’m still flying free!”

A ginger tabby seems to purr its agreement as it threads between the witch-boy’s legs, unperturbed by the mayhem or the lack of solid ground beneath its paws. The feline grows until it’s the size of a jungle cat, and rubs its cheek against Klarion’s.

Tim Drake, the latest incarnation of Robin, surges from the shadows and strikes forward at Klarion with his bo staff. His focused grin morphs to surprise as the figure shatters like glass. Klarion reappears just out of reach, purple light crackling from his fingertips. The magic consolidates into a massive bolt. Its force lifts rocks and debris from the ground, before rushing towards Robin’s red breast, but Wonder Girl knocks him from the blast.

The outcome still favors Klarion. Robin tumbles away in a whirl of red and black before landing with a thud. A gout of flame encircles the flying hero, deflecting her into a nearby car.

Klarion laughs, and says to the cat, “Why yes, Teekl, I do think this will be even easier than expected!”

Shadows rise from the vehicles lining the street, heralding Raven’s arrival. The darkness blends with the shadows cast by the buildings and converge on Klarion. “What are you even trying to accomplish?” Raven asks. The question was meant more rhetorically for her team, but Klarion seems to hear, and a grin curls his mouth.

“I’m not surprised that a child of failed potential managed to miss the signs,” Klarion scoffs, banishing the shadows with a wave of his hand. “Oh. That wasn’t nice was it?” he asks, face contrite. “I was referring to the Raven girl specifically, even though it applies to all of you miserable sidekicks.”

Raven’s voice echoes from the depths of her hood. “I will banish you, witch boy.”

Klarion spins away from a burst of black energy. “I’ll keep it nice and simple. This world’s magic flows unfettered through a series of magical tubes. It’s like the internet that way, flowing without restraint. But there are so few worthy of such a gift. With the Chains of Eshril-la, I can bind the tubes and control the world’s magic!” Klarion pauses, a moue of disappointment on his face. “I suppose this doesn’t help any of you though does it. You’ve probably never heard of Eshril-la.”

“Oh my god, shut up!” Bunker shouts, sending a brick wall slamming toward him. It meets an outpouring of magic with a tremendous crunch. The wall dissipates into a fine white mist.

Klarion’s eyes narrow. “Rude!”

The team joins in another clash that sends power rippling out in visible waves. Still, in Jason’s humble opinion, it didn’t seem like anything the teen twerps couldn’t handle.

Jason crosses his arms. “I can’t believe you dragged me all the way here to babysit. It’s wasting my time. And your favor.” He glances over his shoulder when Dick doesn’t reply, only to find him charging down the opposite street where flying monsters are spiraling ready to harass the fleeing citizens.

“Damnit,” Jason mutters and takes off behind him.

A choked whimper had caught Dick’s attention. It had been weak, frightened, barely discernable under the boom of magic, but he knew a cry of help when he heard one.

Dick leaps into the air, gloves folding over the purple amalgamation of wings and sinew belching at a woman and her two young children. He floats for a moment before pushing the construct under him like a beach ball in a pool. It pops free of his grip and Dick spins into a roundhouse kick that sends it hurtling towards the brick building where it explodes in a burst of milky liquid and bright light.

The older of the two kids looks up with wonder in his eyes. “Cool!”

The mother nods at Dick in acknowledgment before rounding up the kids and rushing away from the eye of Klarion’s magical mess. As they head down the street, merging with the rest of Gotham who are avoiding the area en masse, Dick turns back toward Jason beaming brightly at him.

Jason looks at Dick, how he has his hands on his hips, a smudge of residual magic on his cheek, and thinks that all Dick is missing is a big “S” on his chest. Jason almost wants to be bare-faced so Dick can see him rolling his eyes.

“Way to show off, N,” Jason sneers. “Now that it’s out of your system, can we please get the hell on?”

Dick’s hands fall from his waist as he visibly deflates. “What’s your problem?”

“Like I said, this is a waste of my time.” Jason shoots a sparkling orb out of the air. “Do me a favor and don’t get in my way. That’ll make this team-up go faster.”

"Does it hurt that much to help out? I mean, do you physically get weak if you drop the lone-wolf act for more than a second?" Dick asks, exasperated.

“Haven’t you noticed, N? I play nice with others, especially your old friends. Maybe even better than you,” Jason says, thinking of the last time he met with Kori and Roy. No awkward pauses, no lies, no tears. “It’s just you and your Golden Boy performance that gives me hives.”

Dick shakes his head, confused at the lazy anger in Jason’s voice. “Performance? What are you even talking about?”

“You. Running in. Being the hero. No matter the time, no matter the place. Even when no one asks you to.”

Dick’s eyes trace Jason’s aggressive stance. No matter how hard he tries to make things easy between him and Jason it always seems to backfire. They partner up and Jason snarks and rages. Dick stays away, and Jason insinuates Nightwing’s lack of presence must be a command from B. There’s no middle ground between them and middle ground is what Dick’s searching for. It’s what he thinks they need.

In that space, when Dick and Jason are back to back fighting against the odds, well, it feels amazing. He’s come to appreciate Jason in those moments, his determination and insight, his courage and wit. His strength. Jason is so strong and it grew in spite of all the things that hurt him, not because of it. If he can just break through, then maybe the rest of the family can come to know this new Jason instead of mourning the old.

Dick may have failed Jason in the past. He’s not going to fail him now.

“We’re heroes,” Dick says, registering Jason’s flinch. “It's what we do. What is this really about?”

“I literally just said it, dickhead. Do you not listen to anything I say or is it more you can’t hear me with your head stuck all the way up your ass?”

“Maybe it’s all the hot air you’re trying to blow up there,” Dick mutters. “I’m just looking out for you, alright. We all need it sometimes.”

“I can take care of myself!” Jason shouts, appalled by the tremor in his voice. “You know what? Forget this.” He turns on his heel, afraid he’d said too much, and stalks towards the whirlwind of magic.

Across the battlefield, Klarion spins purple magic and words, exhausting his combatants’ physical and mental hardiness.

“In the days when your greatest civilizations were discovering fire, a cadre of soothsayers found a crack between the planes of existence. They found a way to bind the magic they found there. Binding is the key. And what binds magic best?” Klarion looks across the sweaty faces of his foes and feels a moment’s pity. For himself as he is cursed to only ever face simpletons. “Chains! The answer is chains. It’s why this plan is foolproof, you see,” Klarion says, triumphant, dismissing of Bunker and Raven’s attacks. He’s interrupted before explaining the cause of his surety by Nightwing and Red Hood’s rising voices barreling towards the battle like warning sirens at an intersection.

Jason jogs toward the fight, checking his firearm as he goes and steadfastly ignoring Dick at his heels.

“We weren’t done,” Dick shouts.

“Well I was done,” quips Jason.

Dick dodges a thick energy wave. The next is knocked back the way it came with the help of a sparking escrima stick and four seasons as Gotham Prep’s pitch hitter. “I’m serious about this. Why are you so upset about working with me? I thought it went well,” Dick says, as if the battle raging around them is a mild irritation to be ignored.

Jason’s bullets tear through the heaving constructs flying overhead and explode in a flash of iron and silver filings. “It wasn’t supposed to go at all. The guy zagged when he should’ve zipped, and we skirted into your territory. It wasn’t planned, but I had it under control before you decided to barge in to play the hero.”

“Are you still mad that I called the cops?” Dick asks. “You don’t know how the BPD are. Once Lido crossed the bridge they were going to want the credit for him. Maybe if you called me in earlier—”

“Of course, princess,” Jason says, interrupting him. “I’ll stop to get you on the phone. I’m sure if you’d asked nicely for the guy doing 98 to take a left instead of a right so he can stay on Gotham’s side of the map, then boy-golly he would’ve. Next thing you’re gonna ask me is why I never let you play with my toys.”

The flow of battle ebbs and waves in any situation, but it’s safe to say much of the momentum wavers as the veteran heroes bicker their way towards the volatile center of swirling magic. Klarion finds himself turning to watch with the rest of the meddling Young Justice members, who are giving their attention to those less deserving.

“This just won’t do,” Klarion mutters. He raises both hands above his head, channeling power into the air, and steps forward, a beacon of sparkling light. “Yes! The old ways were abandoned like toys, but those mystic secrets carried down to a traveler who once walked the River Styx. And it was he who stole the first link in this chain of—”

“I’m just saying! If you told me what was going down, we could’ve. We could have done something. Made a plan, set up a play, something so Lido didn’t even make it my way.” Dick bounces on the balls of his feet before spinning parallel to the ground just managing to slide through twin spinning disks of purple energy. His attention is back on Jason when he lands, conversation resumed without a single beat misplaced. “I’m not asking you for every detail. I’m asking you to trust me. Just trust me, Hood. Is that so hard?”

Dick doesn’t think it should be. Despite their long-dead rivalry of the past, or the more recent line drawn sharply between them when the Outlaws formed, Dick had never lost the trust he’d placed in Jason so long ago. Even when it has come back to bite him in the ass. To know that Jason didn’t feel the same… it stings.

“Yeah, it is actually,” Jason shouts back. He spies a target in the air, an unsightly amalgamation of wings spewing noxious gas. Two bullets tear through it, exploding the construct into quivering goo that rains over his helmet. He hears Dick’s choked laughter and sees red. “For fuck’s sake.”

Jason slaps at his helmet until it comes free. He sets it on the ground then storms toward Dick. He feels angry enough that he can meet Dick bright-white domino lense to lense as he gets in Dick’s face. “What makes you so entitled to my cooperation, ‘Wing? I’m not one of your Titans.”

They’re chest to chest, and this is building toward much more than the bickering of a “married couple” as Tim accuses them of being every time this happens. This is a life and death’s worth of pent-up _something_ that Jason wants to remain buried. He doesn’t want this hot curl of emotion that’s making his chest tight. He just wants Dick off his back.

“My work wasn’t much of a concern to you before I died. It shouldn’t be any of your business now. So why the hell are you making such a big deal about this?”

Dick holds his ground, jaw clenching tightly as he twists the escrima sticks in his fists. But he doesn’t waver under Jason’s stare. He lifts his chin, and squares himself like he’s arguing tactics with Batman in front of the League. And he bites back the first hurtful retort on the tip of his tongue.

His voice is all Nightwing, all battle born confidence in command, but instead of asking for Jason’s follow-through on a plan, Dick asks, “Why are you treating this like a secret that needed to be kept from me?”

“The only secret,” Klarion shouts while sending a flurry of spells into the air, “is how I alone swam through the dark forest of the Thrakoon’s soul-self to find the chain’s end! And if we can return the attention to where it so rightfully belongs, I will tell you how!”

“When have you ever needed to keep a secret from me?” Dick asks as if Klarion hadn’t spoken. He’d reach out toward Jason, and try to turn this into something less confrontational if his weapons weren’t already in his hands. If their words weren’t weapons themselves. Jason certainly looks harried, like he’s ready to fend off an attack.

“Why are you constantly in my business?” Jason shouts.

“Hey! Can this wait for a better time?” Tim asks as he ducks Klarion’s spells.

“Did you hear that? Someone understands how to keep it professional. I always liked that brat,” Jason says, smug grin daring Dick to say otherwise.

Finally, Klarion shouts, “Enough! You are ruining my moment!”

As one, Dick and Jason turn towards the Klarion, seemingly surprised by his appearance. “And it’d be such a shame to ruin that,” Jason snaps back.

Klarion’s magic rumbles into a tempest, sucking debris and loose spells reverberating in the air back toward him. It builds into clouds of purple so dark they rival Raven’s castings. Lightning churns soundlessly within their depths. There’s a loud crash like the sound of thunder crackling in reverse. Teekl shifts to the size of a housecat again, and it clings to Klarion’s shoulder against the gust of energy swirling around. But the most stunning change is in Klarion’s pale skin molting into a shimmering blue and his face twists in terrifying anger as he lifts into the air. His voice rises on the winds, hurtling up and down the city block.

“If you are so determined to interrupt my glory with your personal drama, then I will drown you both in it!” Klarion’s hands begin to flash in frantic waves as he recites a spell. “Give them time and give them space to view this turmoil in its proper place. Beneath my boot or in darkest hell, I do not care to where they're spelled. Just get these love birds out of my face!”

Energy rushes from his extended arms and races at Dick and Jason with an air-shattering boom. It strikes square at their chests and knocks both heroes into an abyss of Klarion’s making.

“Wait, no!” Jason yells. His shout is still ringing in the air as the magic dissipates just as suddenly as it appeared

Klarion turns back to other heroes with a cheshire grin.

“Now that the distraction has been removed, we can return to me!” His cat daintily walks to his other shoulder, purring and nuzzling its approval. “I know, Teekl. That’s my favorite subject too.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Light flashes, and like an old television going out, there’s a pop and Klarion’s face fades away. The dark rushes in to fill the space, suspending each breath in frustrating nothingness, then the world reappears.

“Fucking Klarion!” exclaims Jason from where he’s been spit out on a hard floor.

“Why did you piss him off?” Dick asks, incredulously. Jason turns an angry eye on him, because he’s not taking the blame for whatever just happened.

“Me? I pissed off Klarion?”

Dick glares right back. He can feel bruises already forming from being tossed to the ground. He runs a hand over his hip, checking, as he asks, “What’re you trying to say, Jason? That I was the one who taunted the witch with interdimensional powers?”

“Well, we’re both here, pretty boy. So, it seems like he didn’t like you much either."

“What are you talking about? Everybody likes me.”

Jason counts in his head, eyes closed, so he doesn’t push this any further.

They’re going to get nowhere if he and Dick are arguing the whole time. He’s almost got his anger under control when Dick elbows him. Jason grabs his arm, ready with another angry remark when Dick says his code name.

“Hood.” Dick’s tone puts Jason on high alert. He spins around, bringing the entire room into view.

They’ve landed in the middle of a junior Justice League meeting. Five teens are staggered in front of a holo-screen. Among them, Jason can pick out Superboy with his hands covering his ears, eyes squeezed shut like he’s been at the epicenter of a loud sound. Beside him a boy with green skin works his jaw like a passenger at high altitude. The other teens are acting much the same, some bent over with hands to their ears. Slowly, they seem to shake off the shock, and notice Dick and Jason too.

Jason’s eyes, however, find and fixate on the kid in black and blue coming to stand front and center. A familiar wing-shaped symbol spreads across his chest. It’s undeniable that it’s the Nightwing emblem, but more than that Jason is sure that it is Dick behind the mask. It’s something about the way he holds himself at attention under all that kevlar, the way he watches everything at once, dissecting the room and the threat Dick and Jason pose. Jason’s been at the receiving end of that assessing stare enough times to know what Dick looks like when he’s finished calculating and ready to execute a course of action.

And that’s exactly what this junior Nightwing is doing.

Jason instinctively tightens his grip on his Dick’s arm, pulling to get Dick closer to him and out of draw range. Dick’s elbow presses against his ribs again and it’s gentle, an acknowledgement, precursor to a maneuver if it comes to that. One kid turns into a tiger and starts to rush them, and Jason thinks it just might.

When Dick sees Nightwing pull his escrima sticks from the holster on his thigh, he spins toward Jason. They're in sync, all anger forgotten, and Jason is where Dick needs him to be. Jason crouches low and Dick steps into his cupped hands, using Jason as a springboard to back flip over the tiger.

Behind him, Dick hears Jason grunt and the sound of bodies hitting the ground again. But Dick doesn't have a second to look back. He has to trust Jason or he's never going to make it across the floor to where he knows Nightwing is rushing.

Dick lands on his hands and springs back into the air. The sweep of a bo just misses his fingertips, but Dick has his eyes on the most pressing threat. He goes low as soon as he lands and sweeps Nightwing's feet out from under him. There's a swell of pride in his chest watching himself drop to the floor. Dick isn't sure if he and Jason are dealing with clones or time-travel, but it's a vote in this imposter-Wing's favor that his movements are Dick’s own. Luckily for Dick, it's how he can read him.

Dick goes to follow Nightwing down, but there’s a bo hitting him hard under the ribs, chasing him backwards. Unholstering his own escrimas sticks, Dick turns on Robin and barely knocks another bo swing away. Dick ducks, weapons whirling out to stop Robin’s feints and apply his own pressure. He catches a flash of movement to his right and spins halting a yellow boot midair. Batgirl too?

“Where did you come from?” he asks with a breathy grin.

“That’s our line,” Nightwing calls from behind. Dick drops into a backbend to dodge another series of kicks. He flips onto his feet immediately rolling under another bo strike only to find Nightwing running towards him. He tosses one stick, sacrificing it and another hit to the ribs, to knock one of the weapons from imposter-Wing’s hand.

Across the room, Jason manages to toss the tiger-turned-to-viper into the air only to have the kid come flying back at him in the shape of a big green crow. From his peripheral vision he sees Dick diving out from under a series of practiced, synchronized blows from not just Nightwing, but Robin and Batgirl. If there was time for nostalgia, Jason thinks he might choke on the sentiment. But Dick’s rolling across the floor, down to one weapon, while Jason is stuck wrestling Beast Boy.

“I don’t have time for this, kid,” Jason says, and slips a capsule from his leather jacket. Jason might not have his helmet, but he wasn’t Robin once for nothing. And Robin 101? Always be prepared.

Jason tosses the capsule at Beast Boy as he lands in the shape of a wolf. It bursts into a net on impact, falling heavy on the kid. The micro-mesh will buy them a few minutes, Jason thinks.

Dick lands out of a somersault from between Batgirl and Robin, and catches Jason’s eyes as Jason races across the floor. It’s for a second before the Nightwings go down hard again, both weaponless and rolling into a grappling fight, sleek bodies straining for position.

Jason turns on the speed, ducking under a wild swing to reach Nightwing. A flying body catches him around the middle. Superboy carries him through the air with a yell before shoving him down. Jason hits the ground with the sort of force that will blossom into purple bruising across his side. They’re ridiculously outnumbered. Jason knows Dick has to have realized that too. He rolls to his side and sees that one Nightwing has the other trapped between his strong thighs in a choking hold right before he gets tossed across the room, again.

Dick breaks free from the thigh-lock, and sends the two of them tumbling across the floor until he’s straddling imposter-Wing. Dick punches him in the face, knowing he’s only going to get a hit or two in before imposter-Tim or imposter-Barbara bring a blow down on him. He’d thought hand-to-hand fighting with himself would go faster, but he hadn’t expected the three-on-one coordination between Robin, Batgirl, and this Nightwing. The other Nightwing blocks the second strike, and brings his knee up, winding Dick. Dick doubles up, gasping for breath and listening to Jason’s shouts over the noise and misses the room’s doors sliding open.

The whole room goes silent and still when a commanding voice rings out, “Stop!”

Dick takes a precious moment to flick his eyes around the room and is surprised to see everyone obeyed the command.

“Kaldur,” Nightwing breathes out the name, chest heaving between Dick’s thighs. He grunts and tries to land a hit on Dick, but it’s performative and easily read. Dick ducks and rolls from it, which was probably the intent.

For a moment, after Dick is out of range, Nightwing seems to let his guard down. His chest is heaving as he lays on the floor, and Dick can just look at this kid who’s wearing his suit. Well, almost his suit, Dick will allow. This incarnation has heavy kevlar, and steel bottom boots, and the emblem is more muted. It’s a stealth design that’s ready for heavy combat, and it makes Dick wonder what sort of world they’ve walked into that any version of himself—especially one this young, and Dick can see now that this Nightwing is barely twenty—would need this kind of suit.

Dick tries not to think about timing, and how that’s obviously Tim standing at the ready with his bo; Dick would know his tell anywhere, a clench of his hands so tight his knuckles strain, followed by forced even breathing. It has to be him. Staring at this Babs, he recognizes minute body posturing too, a confidence Dick knows intimately. He tries with all his mind not to think that if they’re here, and not imposters, who else must be absent.

Dick stops watching the rest of the group, and focuses on assessing this unknown entity, this Kaldur dressed in Atlantean armor who commanded the standstill upon entering the room. The rest of the heroes do the same. Kaldur crosses the room to Nightwing’s side while the team waits in the wings for another command.

Kaldur pulls Nightwing up, and Nightwing clears his throat and says, “Thank you, Kaldur,” more clearly. Where Dick expected weapons drawn and a look of suspicion, Kaldur turns to him next. He doesn’t offer the same help standing but he asks, “Are you alright?”

Dick looks for Jason first. Sees him standing on the far side of the room, waiting for another attack. Dick climbs to his feet and shifts so his body is between the group of kid heroes gathering at Nightwing and Kaldur’s backs and Jason. Tries to make it look like he’s staggering to that position, and then smiles as charmingly as he knows how.

“We’ll be fine,” Dick says. He’s fully aware his smile is the one Jason always chides as being fake, the one Dick only uses when, ‘ _you want something_ ,’ he’d once said. Then Jason had called him “Dickie” and it had made Dick furious, but also warm at the nickname even though it clearly wasn’t intended to be kind. The sneer in Jason's voice had almost started a fight.

“If we’re calling a truce can you tell me where we are?” Dick asks.

“Wait, wait!” A voice interrupts. Beast Boy, still half tangled in a net, staggers to their sides. “What is going on here!?”

Beast Boy gestures at Dick and Jason, who has moved to stand at Dick’s side, but he’s definitely yelling at Nightwing. “Dude I thought we told you, ‘No weird plans for at least a year’!”

“This wasn’t me,” Nightwing says.

“Didn’t you see the fight?” Superboy asks.

“He fought Kaldur for like a year, dude! And that was all a ruse!”

“Could it be like Bart? Are you from the future?” Batgirl asks from Nightwing’s side, completely ignoring Superboy and Beast Boy.

“Kind of hard to know if we’re from the future if we don’t even know where we are. Or when.” Jason matches the disarming smile Dick is giving the group with one of his own. It doesn’t go over quite as well, but then, Dick always says he has all the charm of a hungry shark. Still, it's gratifying to see a few of the teens take a step back.

“You are in the new Hall of Justice,” Kaldur says. “The year is 2016.”

Jason and Dick share a look. All the stories Jason has heard about Dick with the Titans never sounded quite like this. And this Kaldur informing them of the year throws time travel out the window.

It’s not a surprise to Jason that Dick sees the fastest route to the truth and starts taking off one of his gloves.

“As you can tell, I’m Nightwing. But I’m sure if you run my blood you’ll know that for yourselves.”

This suggestion detonates a round of discussion that lasts entirely too long, in Jason’s humble opinion. The tall one who somehow shouts leader louder and stronger than Nightwing himself, Kaldur, watches the conversation unfold with a quiet restraint. It appears everyone has an equal voice and are equally willing to shut down ideas, like calling Batman, both agreed upon by Robin and Batgirl, the narcs, or having the Martian Manhunter fly down from the Tower, wherever that may be. Nightwing tackles each option, debating the outcomes with the team.

It’s amusing to see himself cajole and then command ideas from the younger heroes. It reminds Dick of the earliest incarnations of the Teen Titans, and he wonders suddenly where his oldest friends Roy, Donna, Wally, and Garth might be, or the members of the roster he’d at one point helped shape.

Eventually, they agree to run Dick’s blood, and for a base of comparison they run Nightwing’s too. The group of heroes stand around the holo screen while Dick and Jason are separated from them by Garfield, who is a tiger once more and paces in front of them with teeth bared, keeping guard.

Ignoring the kid is easy. Instead, Jason watches this new strange version of Nightwing bring up another holo-screen from his gauntlets, running the DNA strands there. Kaldur steps close to Nightwing and they lean in to study the results.

Jason looks at Dick and doesn’t know why he pushes these buttons but asks, smirking, “You wouldn’t happen to have tech like that hidden in your jumpsuit, would you?”

“Shut up,” Dick says, but there’s no heat in his voice. He sounds distracted, and Jason wants to know why. There’s a quick tremble of Dick’s fingers on his own gauntlet.

“What are you doing?” Jason asks, curious.

“I’m trying to put open the emergency comm line,” Dick mutters. “This might go better if you moved. Use that big, strong body to shield me.”

To Dick’s surprise, Jason lifts his foot to rest against the console where he’s sitting. The subtle movement creates a muscular wall between Dick and the team. When Jason leans forward, to rest an elbow against his knee, Jason creates a picture in Dick’s mind, one he hasn’t thought of in years—Jason on Gotham Tower leaning against his favorite gargoyle. Dick marvels at how the skinny, tough-talking kid has grown into an imposing man that’s as bold and reckless as he is cunning and deadly all over again.

Dick tears his eyes away from the sight. “Thanks,” he mutters.

Jason nudges him a few seconds later. “Any luck?”

“No,” Dick say. “If I had to guess, I’d say this dimension is interrupting our signal.” He eyes the tech displayed around the room trying to find something recognizable. Something he could use to surmount this problem.

“What are you thinking?”

“That this place seems ten years in the future and a lot more dangerous than home.”

Jason shoots him a questioning look. “What makes you say that?”

“Spend enough time with a team and you know how to read them. Their combat training is years ahead of where the Titans were at this age. Plus, look at those suits. That kind of armor means heavy protection.” For all its familiarity, this team is different, he’s different. Still, as Dick watches Nightwing rustle the hair of an impossibly young Beast Boy before turning towards Tim, he doesn’t think this is a bad thing.

“From where I’m sitting it looks like it might actually be enough protection. Maybe the bats here learned something.”

“Hood,” Dick says quietly.

Jason’s voice lowers in response. “Come on, the gang’s all here. Nightwing, Batgirl, Robin.” He bares his teeth. “A-team all around.”

“We don’t know what’s going on, so don’t jump to any conclusions.”

“Fine, you be the optimist, I’ll be the realist.”

“There can be a reasonable explanation.” Dick crosses his arms trying his best to think of one.

“I don’t know why this matters to you.” Jason drops his foot back to the ground. “Fuck, I don’t know why it matters to me either. This isn’t us. It isn’t me.”

Dick watches the anger fade to confusion. “Maybe you were busy,” he offers, trying to lighten the conversation. It backfires.

“Maybe you never extended an invitation,” Jason sneers. “Wouldn’t be the first time, remember?”

Dick, soft, fingers clenching into his arms. “Yeah, I remember.” Dick had been so consumed with finding his own place on his own terms. Some of that meant keeping Jason out of certain places, like the Titans. He’d been such an idiot. “Do you still want to?”

“Why? You’re going to invite me on another play date with your justice pals? Thanks but no thanks.” Jason looks over the room observing the signs of camaraderie and compromise. “It’s too late for that.”

“It’s a perfect match,” says Nightwing, interrupting their talk, a small frown on his lips. “How is this possible?”

“Working theory is interdimensional travel via the astral plane,” Dick begins only to be interrupted by a snort.

“Working theory? Klarion said he was sending us through time and space before he went apeshit on us,” Jason says. The reactions from Batgirl, Robin, and Beast Boy are instantaneous.

“Klarion?”

“The witch-boy?”

“Ugh!”

Dick grins at the weary voices. “So you’ve heard of him?”

Nightwing nods. “We’ve had more than a few run-ins with him. He’s not someone to underestimate.”

“Finally, someone who knows how to keep it professional. I like this guy already,” Dick says, echoing Jason’s words from before things went sideways. He’s saved from Jason’s retort by a quick chime from Nightwing’s gauntlet. Nightwing lifts it into the air and the screen appears again this time with a set of numbers rapidly aligning in a long string. Dick follows the line, eyes narrowing. “Is that a Predesh cascading decoder?”

Nightwing nods. “It is. I’ve been using it to track a signal that’s been piggybacking off an old communication’s channel.”

Both Dick and Nightwing study the signal’s patterns with twin frowns on their faces. “It looks familiar,” they say in unison. They shift uncomfortably, arms moving to cross their chests in one synchronized act. Both pause mid-motion when they realize their movements are in tandem and offer each other the same sheepish grin.

Jason rolls his eyes. “Cute,” he says. “Care to share.”

“A couple years back, I was updating the decryption algorithms we use to help me track a group of corporate raiders who transitioned into funneling blood money through banks,” Dick begins. He steps into the center of the room, natural leadership exuding from him. “At first, I thought they were associated with the League of Assassins, but eventually, I found I was working with a more local crew.” He’s very patient with his explanation, and he imitates the best eye contact he can through his domino lenses. Around the room the team, Kaldur, and even Nightwing appear to relax. Some of the heroes lean forward to listen.

When Dick gets three sentences into what is the most boring lecture ever, Jason starts tuning him out. He looks to his left and discovers he’s not the only one. Beast Boy walks on the edge of the nearest table shifting between creatures every seventh step. A tarantula with eight spindly legs, a lemur with wide blinking eyes. They become increasingly ridiculous—preying mantis, naked molerat, pink fairy armadillo, only green, and a freakish aye-aye—until Jason finally smiles. Beast Boy unleashes a quiet shriek in triumph.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re totally the coolest Titan,” Jason says, remembering a time when he wore a yellow cape and thought every Titan was larger than life and everything that was good and true and right. It seems like that was even longer ago in this place.

“And that’s how I’ve used it in the past and,” Dick catches Jason and Gar’s interaction out the corner of his eye. He can’t think of the last time he’s seen Jason’s smile. Even when he was younger, Jason’s mobile face would frown, pout, sneer, grin, but he never really smiled. It’s a rare sight and Dick thinks his luck can’t be all bad if he can see one now. He shakes his head returning his focus to the room. “Sorry. But it’s best for decoding signals and back-tracking origination points through scattered sites.”

“So, you’re saying whatever signal Boy-Wonder is after is setting it off,” Jason says, summing it up with a briefness to express his boredom.

Nightwing closes the program, a cagey look on his face. “We can discuss it later. We have other things to take care of. Your appearance here for one.”

“Nightwing,” Kaldur starts carefully. “Does this signal concern the case you brought us?”

Nightwing opens his mouth to deny it then stops. “I’m pretty sure it does. But these guys do take priority.”

“This is true,” Kaldur agrees. “But he is you and appears to have experience with our villains. Perhaps he knows this Independent Agent who keeps appearing.” He turns to Dick. “Do you have experience with Red?”

“Red?” Dick asks after exchanging a glance with Jason. “To be honest it’s a pretty common adjective in code names where we’re from. But maybe if you show me what you have?”

Nightwing hesitates for a moment, but then he looks at Dick with something close to relief now that trust is on the table.

“Actually, any notes you might have would be appreciated,” Nightwing says. “It’s more than just Red. I’ve connected him to a separate group robbing banks across the northern seaboard.” He touches the screen. A scrolling total appears, it’s in dollar amounts, and it doesn’t slow until the total reaches nearly five million. “This number represents the total loss these banks have reported after the robberies. But this gang isn't done yet. I have a pattern. I know how it’s done, but I can’t identify who is committing the crimes or how to predict their next target. Or why Red is even involved.”

His fingers fly over the keys on his gauntlet and on the screen Nightwing presents the locations of several high-profile heists that have taken place in major cities from New York to Philadelphia and up and down the New England coast. Jason stands to get a closer look. He’s starting to get that feeling of familiarity both Nightwings had mentioned. And he doesn’t like it one bit.

“This can’t be everything,” Jason mutters. “This is what? Six months of data?” He turns to find Nightwing staring at him, a question on his parted lips. “Is that a yes or a no, N?”

Nightwing seems to shake himself. “Yes,” he says. “That’s when I came across the signal. And there are no other records within the past eighteen months with the same or similar M.O.”

Dick points at the escalating dollar amounts. “But Red and the group are separate, right? Maybe Red’s an opportunist. You said the signal hits first, right, then the bank is hit. Nightwing, is there financial information transferred when the signal goes through the bank?”

“No,” says Nightwing. “Outside of normal business transactions prior to the robberies. After the alarm sounds, the systems are locked down.” 

“Try the lock downs then,” Dick says. “See if any banks entered lockdown protocols within that eighteen-month window.”

It takes a few minutes but ten more cities join the pulsing indicators on the map. They form a lazy ring around but not touching Gotham.

Dick narrows his eyes, sure he’s seeing something wrong, but the date is right. “If these new incidents are connected, then the first incident was in Bludhaven. The First Bank & Trust reported sixty-thousand dollars going missing through a computer error during a quarterly transferal. Where was the transfer going?”

He and Nightwing share a glance, elation rising within them, but it’s Jason who answers.

“Gotham City Bank.”

Nightwing glances at the new data compiling on the screen. “He’s right. There’s a large money transfer from a private account prior to each robbery. And they’re all heading to Gotham Bank.”

“That’s Red,” Jason says, a sneer on his lips. “The robberies are just to get the money moving.”

“But why?” Dick asks. “And what happened six months ago that made Red partner with this other team? Because it looks like Red would’ve stayed under the radar if he hadn’t.”

Nightwing’s expression closes. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

Dick watches the room and sees a shift in Batgirl and Robin’s stances as they regard Jason, curiosity growing to intent.

Kaldur asks, “Do you have any other details, Nightwing?”

It’s enough to disrupt them all. Nightwing unspools further information he’s collected. A decrypted data file, crime scene reports, and insurance claims. Last of all, he shows them the surveillance photos he has of a figure dressed in black, something that looks familiar—something about the ragged cape and the boots. But it’s thrown off by the hood and the red mask that covers most of the man’s face.

Jason has a bad feeling that he knows who Red might be.

“We do still have to be on the look-out for Red, though,” Nightwing is saying, indicating the figure from the surveillance photos. “He always shows up when this group hits. And don’t underestimate him. He’s not an amateur.”

“But it was his signal you picked up on a minute ago?” Dick clarifies.

“Yes. I haven’t been able to discern if he shows up because he’s working with the group, or it’s some other ulterior motive,” Nightwing admits. “But if his signal bounced off towers at that location, previous experience says the banks near there are about to be hit.”

“What’s the location?”

Nightwing looks up from the display. “Downtown Gotham.”

“That means Gotham City Bank is today's target,” Jason says. “Lockdown protocols route everything to GCB’s main branch. Your guy has amassed all this money in one place and he’s come to collect.”

Dick agrees with Jason’s sentiment. Something about it, and Jason’s deduction give him his own unsettling conclusion. He says, “Right under Batman’s nose.”


	4. Chapter 4

The group decides to break into three teams; Aqualad, Batgirl, and Bumblebee, are Alpha, and are tasked with reconnaissance of the bank.

There’s some surprise amongst the team when Nightwing doesn’t grab for point position on his own lead, but he tries to quell the questions, saying, “I’ve had my share of encounters with this group already. I can run Gamma and be more help as eyes and ears for the team if they show up. Miss Martian, Beast boy, Superboy, and Robin should run Beta. They’ll back Alpha if a crime is in progress. And if both of us Nightwings are on Gamma, we can run and compare strategies without having to worry about opposition surveillance.”

In case of further argument, Nightwing puts his hands up and smiles at the group in an attempt to assuage their concern. It’s the same disarming smile Dick was wearing earlier when the fighting stopped, but unlike when Dick smiled, the team persists questioning until Nightwing adds, “I promise. I’m perfectly whelmed with Gamma, guys. Plus, from my vantage point, I’ll be able to figure out how they’ve been getting by me for so long.”

“Whelmed?” Jason mouths at Dick, who shrugs in return. He had aimed for subtle but the byplay attracts the attention from the one person in the room Jason doesn’t want to deal with.

“Hood, right?” Nightwing asks, addressing Jason directly for the first time. “You’ll also be on Gamma? It’ll be standing around, and staking out the surrounding area, but you probably want to stick with Nightwing, er. Your Nightwing, right?”

There’s a pregnant pause while the room waits to hear Jason’s answer. Where there appears to be an automatic acceptance of Dick by the team, Jason’s been treated with friendly caution. Smart on their part. It doesn’t lessen Jason’s need to break out of Justice Day Camp and find someone who can get them back home. Unfortunately, there’s not a good way to bow out of this mission without raising their suspicions. Standing around with this Gamma squad isn’t a great option either. One Nightwing is bad enough, a second, something from one of his more pleasant nightmares. The reunion between a younger, shinier version of Dick and his alternate self is a whole other matter entirely, and not something he wants a front row seat to. His own reunion with Dick was bad enough.

But, as if on a mission to serve Jason said nightmare on a silver platter, Dick swoops in with his big mouth to save the day. “Back in our universe, Hood and I partner on a lot of cases together. I’m sure he can live with two Nightwings for a few hours.”

He smiles broadly at the team, like his endorsement will earn Jason the team’s trust.

“I wouldn’t call us partners, but someone has to keep him out of trouble. Might as well babysit here too,” Jason says. “I do have a question for you, Nightwing. ‘Whelmed?’ That a thing here?”

Robin steps forward, both defensive and amused. “It’s a Nightwing thing.”

Nightwing ducks his head. But he can’t hide the quick smile fast enough.

Sailing in with a disarming smile and a bit of wordplay to save the day. Trying to heroically solve problems even when there isn’t one, especially when it’s not welcomed, all the while attempting to command authority without compromising the team’s autonomy? The similarities between both Dicks are so irritating Jason’s teeth itch.

Yeah, it’s definitely a Nightwing thing.

They have eyes on Alpha team entering the bank but, once they’re inside, the comms go quiet and it’s just a waiting game. Jason, Dick and Nightwing take up position on the building across the street. While Dick and Nightwing perch at the railings around the roof and get lost in a quiet discussion of the tech in Nightwing’s gauntlets, Jason takes up guard of the roof entrance. He uses the opportunity to look at this Gotham.

The buildings look the same as back home. Maybe a little brighter and shinier in the daylight, but the Clocktower is still comfortingly North East of the harbor and Wayne Tower is exactly where it should be. Jason thinks, if he were to take off, even this Gotham would feel familiar. As though all his safe houses should be exactly where he’d set them up back home and he’d navigate old plans easily.

Then Jason takes stock of the other buildings around the bank and there’s dread settling in him. He remembers a muggy night in June, one three years and six months to the day, when he’d stumbled across similar rooftops licking his wounds and his pride. Jason’s arm broke during a bust up with a drug deal gone wrong, and Jason had escalated events in retaliation. His rage had flared so hot that the GCPD flew in to the sound of gunfire, but the source, Jason, was already six bodies down and three blocks away.

It was bad, amateur, and Jason had been lucky not to run into Batman.

At the time, seeing Bruce hadn’t been part of his plan; he’d only been back in Gotham for a year and he hadn’t made a name for himself. Running into Nightwing three blocks from the police barricades hadn’t been part of the plan either. But there it was, a blur of blue and black spinning overhead to land in front of Jason, halting his escape.

To Jason, there was no recognition in Dick’s body language, no sense that Dick realized he’d been first to discover the great secret of Jason’s return. Dick had taunted him from across the roof, hands propped on his hips as he grinned and said, “Welcome to Gotham City; tonight I’ll be your one man welcome wagon.” It was all a routine that Jason had seen him perform for henchmen and criminals in over their heads in Gotham. If not for the lenses, Jason would’ve bet Dick was even winking at him. And it’d hurt more than he’d expected to see Dick again. Jason had anticipated, had been assured by Talia, that the rage he carried would win him out in a fight against Nightwing. But then, face to face with Dick? And to not be recognized?

It had hurt too much. Jason had met Dick’s questions about what he was doing in Gotham with easily blocked punches, and then made a quick escape. He didn’t see Dick again for months. Not until all his grand plans fell apart and there’d been nothing to show for his need for just vengeance but bitterness and disappointment.

Jason’s shaken from the memory by Dick speaking louder, no longer whispering with his younger self.

“You know, your instincts are good,” Dick says, careful to look at the bank and not at Nightwing. It’ll be easier to say this, he thinks, if he can pretend he’s talking to Tim instead. “It’s good that you reached out to your team. When I was striking out as Nightwing, I was trying to do a lot of it on my own. I came out on the right side of a lot of choices, but I also made mistakes.”

From his periphery, Dick sees Nightwing lower his holo screen and shifts towards Jason and him. As uncomfortable as Dick feels looking at his own face and saying this, he turns too. Jason has moved from the wall and is standing closer now too, arms crossed and as intent on the rest of what Dick is going to say as Nightwing. Dick smiles somewhat sheepishly.

“I know it seems like Red needs your help,” Dick continues. He keeps his eyes locked on Nightwing’s narrowing domino lenses. “But there’s a real possibility that this is a ploy and Red knows that you’re checking his signals. You may have to consider that he’s the distraction to keep you from stopping the rest of the group.”

There’s a tense moment where no one says anything. The comms stay quiet, and Dick can feel Jason’s gaze on him.

“Nightwing, can I ask you something?” Jason asks, breaking the silence. When Dick looks at Jason, though, Jason is already staring back. Dick startles at the intensity of Jason’s body language. His skin prickles like a cool breeze has just passed over him. He gets the uneasy sense that whatever Jason plans to say next is truly meant for him, not this universe’s Nightwing.

“Dick might not remember this case, but I remember a similar string of robberies at Gotham National and its branches. Can I guess that you do, in fact, know that Red’s signal pings before the robbery? Every time in fact, but it’s only been the last few when you’ve caught the signal early enough to get there first?”

Nightwing nods haltingly.

Jason’s jaw clenches. It’s one of the signs that Jason is building towards an outburst. His shoulders raise like he’s anticipating an attack and there’s no means of escape. His jaw clenches, and his fingers start drumming on any flat surface, a table, a counter, or his belt like now. “What else do you know about Red anyway? You’ve met him, haven’t you? It’s why you’re splitting hairs on whether he’s involved. And why you haven’t mentioned it to your team?”

Nightwing nods. “It was six months ago,” he says. “A chance encounter. I didn’t even know it was him at first, but he let it slip.”

“Why didn’t you hook him up then?” Jason mimes snapping cuffs to his wrists.

“I was off my game that night,” Nightwing admits. “And Red was really good, competent, skilled. He was also ... familiar.”

He says the last part like it hurts to admit. Dick tears his gaze from Jason and looks at Nightwing in surprise.

“Familiar?” asks Jason, but the tone borders on taunting.

“Yeah,” Nighting says, and there’s an edge to his voice. The riotous anger Jason considers to be just under Dick’s surface boils faster in this kid. He fists clench at Jason’s unspoken accusation, and he’s advancing on Jason. Taking the coming fight to him.

“Yes, familiar. You’re familiar too,” Nightwing says. “Who are y— ”

The bank alarms send shrill notes through the plaza. Over the comms, Kaldur’s voice directs Beta Team to split high and low to mark the escape routes. Kaldur directs Gamma to move on his mark. A loud boom echoes from the bank’s western exploding the glass with smoke and flame, and Jason stares into the fire, remembering a moment, a time when he wanted nothing more than to watch it all burn. He’s distracted, reaches for his sidearm while Dick goes for a grapple.

They move toward the building, to join the fray, but when Jason turns and says, “With us, Nightwing?” he realizes Nightwing’s not. Instead, Nightwing is running full tilt towards the opposite corner where the Gotham Sentinel building stands.

Across the way stands a lone figure calmly watching the chaos below unfold, cape flapping in the wind, and it’s undeniable to Jason that it’s his old Robin suit. Just all in black. With a red mask.

Red doesn’t wait long before he’s running away from the chaos and smoke. Nightwing chasing him, Jason chasing Nightwing.

“They need us at the bank, Hood!” Dick yells from behind him. Jason makes a frustrated sound.

“Red is on the Sentinel building, ‘Wing. And your double is going after him.”

Dick chases after them. “Why isn’t he alerting everyone on the comms?”

“The same reason you’re not,” Jason shouts. “Red is me, Dick! It’s me!” He stops for a moment but it’s enough time for Dick to catch up. When he’s so close, Jason makes an aborted gesture to reach out and touch Dick. But thinks better of it and asks, “How do you think you’re going to feel when you find out Red is a dead Robin come home just to burn it down? How do you think I’m going to react when you try to take me to fucking Blackstone?”

He doesn’t say, ‘again.’ But Dick’s fists clench and he nods. Jason starts running again with Dick hot on his heels. They pursue Nightwing with renewed speed, easily leaping the gap and landing atop the Sentinel building. Jason and Dick roll to their feet, weapons in hand, to find Nightwing and Red already engaged in a fight. They leap together and fall apart while the alarm continues its shrill sound.

On the comms, Kaldur raises his steady voice notifying the team that they’ve apprehended the thieves without injuries to Alpha team, the civilians, or the thieves themselves.

“But we cannot be sure of their numbers. Beta team, continue to search the known access points. Perhaps they found a new entry. Gamma team,” Kaldur says, changing his attention to the vigilantes on the roof. “Gamma team, you have been monitoring the signal. Has there been any activity from Red? Gamma team? Gamma team can you read me? . . . Gamma team. Respond!”

Nightwing’s voice bursts over the channel, strained but determined. “Gamma in pursuit! I’ve got this one, Kaldur.”

Jason pulls the comm from his ear. Doesn’t want his attention split while he decides when and how to engage.

Red slides from Nightwing’s hold. “You don’t have anything and you never will!” he shouts, whirling a knee towards Nightwing’s exposed side and sprints for the building's edge.

When a helicopter appears overhead, Jason takes a moment to wonder if he seemed this dramatic when he reappeared. Red tries to leap for the rope ladder that was thrown to him, but Nightwing catches him across the waist and drags him back down. Jason watches them hit the roof hard. The half-mask must be similar tech to Jason’s own, but an earlier proto-type because it only withstands the impact before smashing and leaving Red revealed.

Red struggles first to get away. But when it’s obvious Nightwing has him pinned, Red turns his face as much as he can to conceal his identity. It’s not much. Dark, curly hair falls over his face. And he’s young. Just eighteen if Jason remembers how old he was. But he can’t imagine being that age, not when Red finally gives up struggling and glare defiantly at them all. He looks so much younger with his face twisted up and flushed with rage.

Nightwing breathes out. “Jay?”

Dick is as still as Jason, grip so tight on the escrima sticks, but not moving to intervene.

“Surprise, right?” Red asks. He sounds choked.

“Jason?”

Red struggles against him, yelling, “Oh you remember me now!

“I thought you might have caught a clue on those rooftops. I thought I had given everything away, the jig being up and all that shit. You almost had me, Dickie, but then you hesitated. I was pretty dumb to think you did that because you remembered me. Cause you cared,” Red sneers at the last word, a level of vitriol in his voice that Jason knows all too well.

Nightwing shakes his head in denial, in disbelief. “Jason. All this time. It’s been you?”

“I watched for weeks, you know,” Red continues. “I figured Cadmus must have cloned me and sent it back out there like Arsenal. I thought there’d been another Robin following you around Bludhaven. Tailing you hopelessly too, you know? But I’d be ready, and you’d know it was me. You’d know _me_.” His voice shakes.

“The whole . . . Jason how long were you-?”

“I kept thinking there had to be a reason you left me to rot with them. Maybe you hadn’t known.” Red’s voice increasing in volume as he rages at Nightwing. “But no, I was just easy to replace!”

“Shut up, Jason. Just shut up,” Nightwing shouts. Red stills under him.

The hands pinning Red’s wrists let go and Nightwing sits back. He’s breathing heavily, whole palms pressing against his eyes. And Jason doesn’t know this body language. He can’t read it and that scares him. An unreadable and reckless Dick Grayson is bad news, and Jason should try to stop what’s going to happen—whatever it is. But he doesn’t dare move. The only other place to look is to Dick for help. If he lets himself look at his Dick though, he’s not sure what he’ll see. So, he can only watch as Nightwing slowly evens out his breathing.

The chopper overhead veers at an unnatural angle. The rotor blades spin faster and faster before there’s a shout and the sound of something ripping free. Machine parts clatter to the roof far past Nightwing and Red. The helicopter goes quiet but it doesn’t fall out of the air. It twists, and moves slowly toward the street. As it turns, Miss Martian can be seen flying it toward the street below with help from the team.

For all the commotion, though, it’s white noise in comparison to what Nightwing says next.

“You’re alive,” Nightwing says. It sounds like disbelief. His hands drop and he’s looking at Red again. His fingers brush over Red’s shoulders, and Nightwing says with more surety, “You’re alive.”

It’s unexpected when Nightwing curses. Then he’s dragging Red up so they’re chest to chest. He’s heavily in Red’s lap as his fingers go from gentle to clinging in the fabric of Red’s black cape and the hair at the nape of his neck. Nightwing drags Red in for a kiss. The desperation is clear from here, and it hurts to watch as Nightwing presses and presses deepening kisses to Red’s upturned lips as his hands pull and press.

“You’re alive, fuck,” Nightwing hisses at the end of a soft, whimpering sound. Red’s hand are suddenly in Nightwing’s wind-swept hair too. They don’t stop moving as he desperately touches Nightwing like this is his one chance to with reverent and shaking touch.

Jason’s draw drops at the sight of Nightwing and Red clutching each other with shaking hands, kissing each other with soft lips, welcoming each other like long lost lovers. It’s like watching a car crash, a bad play, a twisted daydream, all recognizable, but he knows one thing for sure. “It didn’t happen like this,” he whispers.

Dick can’t tear his eyes away. Of the outcomes he feared, Dick hadn’t imagined this one. He makes a questioning sound at Jason, soft so as not to break the tableau.

“It didn’t happen this way,” Jason repeats, voice rising. “What the fuck is this?” He doesn’t realize he’s moved forward until Dick nudges him back. He stares at his hands that are trembling ready to tear them apart while his heart races. “They’re. They’re. They were. Together?”

Dick doesn’t have a word to supply, not yet, but he looks away finally, a twinge of pain in his chest. “Just give them a moment, okay.”

“You’re alive,” Nightwing repeats as Red presses kisses to his temple, hands dragging him in by the hips. Nightwing’s eyes close and he arches toward Red.

“I’m alive,” Red says back, voice shaky with awe. When they kiss again, it’s with mutual need as he holds Nightwing’s face cradled between his hands.

That’s when a hole opens beneath Jason and Dick, and they fall through.


	5. Chapter 5

At first, it’s terrifying, having the world ripped away and falling into a void. The twisting magics zip around—and sometimes through—their bodies. Jason’s become used to the gut-twisting speed and the way it pins his limbs to his side, but the pulsating waves dancing around them like the world’s grooviest lava lamps make him nauseated.

The next wave angles towards them. It warps until it cracks like glass and drags Dick and Jason down to the bottomless depths. Jason’s body compresses in a painful fashion as if he was being forced into a two-dimensional plane. A chilling touch winds up their bodies as they sink, ankle, calves, knees. The deep, numbing sensation engulfs Jason everywhere except for his belly. That churns messily.

He is going to hurl and then he is going to freeze. Great.

A flash of blinding light fills their vision. When Jason finally blinks away the white film, he experiences two things: a sun cresting over the Gotham Bay and the spiraling sensation of freefall. He flips onto his belly which heaves. That issue is shoved down the list to make room from Jason’s new, more pressing problem. He can feel his eyelids fluttering behind his domino mask and his vision flickers. Jason Todd doesn’t pass out. He’s an experienced hand at making it through extreme conditions—concussed, double-vision, hemorrhaging toxin, and once, both arms broken—without losing consciousness. Spots begin dancing before him and he knows this is it. This is how it ends.

One day, he’s going to have to sit down and figure out exactly why the universe had it in for him.

A wild, joyous cry tears through the rushing air—snatched out of the wind and carried to Jason’s ear in a burst of static. He grumbles as darkness crowds his mind. Of course, Dick is enjoying himself.

Then the world just stops for Jason, darkness covering his vision like spilled ink on the page.

A few feet above, Dick ducks his head and flips, one, two, three, four times before stretching out again. The roaring wind sounds like applause to his ears. He needed this moment. This break in tension. This reminder of who he is and what he’s supposed to do.

Dick has always found beauty in the fall. It’s more than the thrilling rush. It’s more than feeling his stomach flip and his body seize for that one, death-defying moment. It’s more than the stuttering jog of the heart and how even the air he breathes everyday tastes different. Falling feels right like when he’s collected all the pieces of a mystery and he’s charged with understanding. It’s familiar and fills him with joy like when Dick is within seconds of seeing someone he holds dear. It’s a welcome feeling.

He’d felt sidelined in the last universe, shocked at Red’s reveal. He had his weapons ready for a fight, but they’d been useless against the desperate tableau Red and Nightwing had made.

Dick stretches and does a slow spin in the force of the energy, and tries to shake off the familiar feeling of heartache he’d experienced watching them. It used to grip his chest and make it hard to breathe when he thought about his parents. After Jason had died, Dick had felt that way too. And then Jason came back, and Dick hadn’t known how to feel.

To be fair, no one did.

Jason’s return to the fold hadn’t been easy or kind, and it hadn’t eased the heartache. Dick can’t recall if he’d made Jason feel welcome to stay or if he’d acted like he wanted Jason to disappear. What he remembers of Jason’s return is anger. He remembers all the pain reigniting in his family. He remembers no compromise and constant rejection. A gun pressed to his head.

This other Nightwing had kissed Jason, a Jason, and welcomed him with the warmest arms.

A part of Dick wants to know how much of what he just saw lines up with his memories. A part of him wants to dive back into those impossible days and review his behaviors like he’s done so many times before. But that part is subsumed by something more important. Flight.

“Whooo!” Dick shouts as he spirals through the air. He tilts his head, expecting something from Jason. His disdain, his laughter rushing free like water from rusted pipe. But there’s only silence. Dick narrows his eyes, searching until he finds Jason hurtling through the fading mist, body limp.

“Jason,” he hisses, and when he receives no reply, angles to intercept.

There’s no doubt in Dick’s mind that he’ll reach Jason in time. For the last month he’s proved that he can reach Jason, that he can tell Jason’s sullen silence from absence, that he can be the thing that makes the difference. There’s no doubt that they won’t collide because they always do, the anger and resentment between them molten like lava, flowing deep beneath the surface and close like keys in your pocket, familiar, useful, ready to take you home. But Jason never wanted to come home. Jason never wanted to see the hand extended out to him, had leapt away every time.

Now Dick thinks that perhaps he could have done more. He could have greeted Jason with the joy of a brother returned instead of falling into his own fears and anger.

Dick closes his arms around Jason, but in his mind, he sees the face of the Jason he’d just met and the way he had looked when Nightwing kissed him a second time. Dick holds Jason a little tighter as the buildings come into view. Because the next lesson Dick had learned is this: the catch is the easy part of the act. Coming down safely is hard.

The air whistles shrilly as he passes the radio spire of Gotham’s tallest building. If he doesn’t do something quick, they’ll be a sad splatter on the pavement with no one to mourn them.

“I won’t let that happen, Jay.” Dick reaches for his grapple and sends it flying.

Once the grapple hook makes contact, it sends a pulse to Dick’s gauntlet. He follows the line, letting the reeling motion slow their descent, but things go wrong because his name is Dick Grayson. A blip pulses through his hand signaling a warning about the grips. He has three seconds before they fail. Two. One.

The line drops, whipping Dick and Jason’s limp body up and down. They careen wildly, mass and acceleration plotting against them. Dick loops his arms into Jason’s arm holsters, hoping this keeps them together because the wall approaching them is obsidian black and unyielding, and Dick is about to crash into it.

Then the world stops for Dick. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say, the world jerks then sways. Dick opens his eyes to find Gotham spinning gently beneath his feet as he and Jason dangle in a perfect pirouette above the cloudy city.

“What do we have here?” asks a filtered voice.

Dick looks up. It’s Batman, or a Batman, wearing deep hues of purple and gold, the color of dawning night, holding their line with one hand while he leans against the slick building surface.

“Jason needs help.” The words tumble out before he can stop them.

Batman’s eyes narrow behind the cowl as he studies Jason’s slack face. “I know a place we can go,” he says before lifting both Dick and Jason higher. “I’ll take your friend. Do you see that stone steeple there?”

Dick searches the unfamiliar skyline after transferring Jason’s weight over. “The _church_?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, just unexpected,” Dick says. He steals a fresh grapple from Jason’s pocket. “Don’t you worry about the bats in the belfry?”

Batman slowly turns his head and looks Dick over. “That was funny.” His lenses flair. “Hmm. This is funnier. Let’s go. I have a few questions for you.” Batman drops the line before sending his own out. He pauses on the building’s edge, feet squared and shoulders in a manner Dick learned when he was barely taller than his father’s knees.

“Let’s go,” Batman says and Dick follows them flying into the night. Batman dives chest first, line loose behind him, and Dick knows exactly who this Batman is and how heavy the cowl must feel.

The church seems so out of place in this version of Gotham City. The dark stone, gargoyles, and Catholic statues lining the heavy roof gives the church an ancient feeling when compared to the buildings - sleek metal, tall glass, and blue lights -surrounding it. It’s as if the Vatican had been magically transferred to downtown Dubai. Once they climb over the outer wall, Dick sees that the grounds are quite small. A small courtyard separates the church proper from the living quarters lining the rear. Then Dick hears laughter, children’s laughter. He follows the sound to a small building on the opposite end of the rectory.

“Is there a school here?” he asks.

Batman glances at him. “An orphanage.” He continues to walk along the rooftop with preternaturally perfect balance.

Taking refuge at an orphanage doesn’t feel right. “Are you sure this place is safe?”

“This is the safest place in the city for your friend here,” Batman replies. “Safest place for you.” His voice grows soft. “For me.”

Despite the tired atmosphere, Dick expects some semblance of security on the grounds, but Batman simply walks through a side door into a wooden hallway. He goes straight for the stairs, leading them up to the second floor and the bedroom door on the right. There’s an ascetic quality to the room: one bed, one window, one chair, one shelf, and one holy book sitting on the stand.

Batman lays Jason on the narrow bed, pausing to stare at him again. This cowl covers more face than Bruce’s ever will, but Dick can just make out the worry around his mouth, the stress in his hands. Batman glances at him. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“I’ll be here,” Dick mutters, but Batman is already gone. Dick twirls the chair until the back faces the bed then drops into the seat, ankles cross in front of him, chin resting on his folded hands.

Dick hasn’t seen Jason at rest in a long time. He looks vulnerable, young. Dark shadows lurk beneath his eyes. His mouth parts, shoulders a little too tight, but Jason lives with tension shaping his bones. The color has returned to his cheeks and his nose twitches as he shifts on the pillow. A strange fondness wells inside Dick, an urge to reach out and brush the white hairs back from Jason’s face, but he can’t quite bring himself to touch Jason right now.

“You’re going to be so pissed off when you wake up,” he explains softly. The door opens and Dick turns, expecting Batman’s return. He finds another man instead, familiar, tall, dark hair and teal eyes widening in shock. Dick wants to laugh, because it can’t be as odd to find Dick sitting in this room as it is for Dick to see Jason Todd decked in all black with a white collar banding his throat.

“I saw the light across the way, and I thought. I thought.” The priest’s gaze turns towards the bed then back to Dick. “Who are you and what happened to the guy on the bed?”

Dick stands, placing himself between Jason and this strange vision of him, complete with a shock of white hair at the hairline, and thinks that Klarion’s game is more obvious now.

“Father . . . Todd?” Dick ask haltingly. He receives a hesitant nod in return. “Father Jason Todd?”

Father Todd’s face grows cold and his hand goes to grip something at his waist. It’s a quick, furtive motion that’s aborted as soon as it starts. Father Todd shakes his head. “Jonas. My name is Jonas Todd.”

It’s taken Dick nearly a year before he worked out Jason’s tells. A difficult feat, especially when Jason finds comfort behind his red mask and his imposing silence, his aggressive insouciance. But Dick now knows that Jason will rap his knuckles against the wall if he’s feeling agitated. His holsters on his left if he’s working with plastiques. And Jason looks Dick in the eyes and blinks twice, sedately, when he’s lying. Father Todd does the same here.

Dick gives him an apologetic smile. “Right. Father Jonas. Todd. I’m sorry. I must have heard wrong.”

Father Todd’s hands fold beneath his long coat. “What brought you here?”

“My name is Nightwing. A mutual acquaintance brought us here. My friend needed help.” Dick points to the emblem on his chest and watches Father Todd’s gaze flicker to the bat emblazoned on Jason’s still form. The tension in the room eases, but only just.

“Batman.” Father Todd looks about the room as if he expects the vigilante hiding in any corner. He sighs. “Well, I guess I can’t argue with that,” he says in a voice that says he’d really like to try. He comes to the other side of the bed getting his first look at Jason’s face, his face, resting slack against the pillows. “Holy - Father,” he says, just able to hold his exclamation back. “What is going on here?”

“We’re from an alternate past on an alternate earth,” Dick says. “I’m sorry I don’t have a way to ease you into the concept, Father but, it’s likely that you and Jason are the same person, at least genetically. ”

Father Todd squares him with a look, “Strange enough things happen in Gotham everyday, and I haven’t run screaming yet. The real question is, why did Batman bring you here?”

Dick would like to say something to soothe the anger in the priest’s voice, but he doesn’t have answers. “I can only guess it’s because we arrived nearby. And Batman said this place was safe.”

“Where is he now?”

“He left before I could ask. Look, my friend, I could really use some help. Basic medical supplies at the very least,” Dick says watching Father Todd’s lips pinch tight. “Please.”

Father Todd bows his head and for a second, seems to struggle beneath some invisible weight. Then he nods. “Of course.” He turns back to Jason’s still form and attacks the issue with focused motions. He pulls a small glowing instrument from beneath his cassock and begins waving it across Jason’s forehead.

“What’s that?” Dick asks.

“This is a modified first-aid device. They’re used for diagnosis and medical care,” Father Todd says after noticing Dick staring at the instrument with narrowed eyes. “It’s not connected to the monitoring grid and it won’t hurt your friend. See.” He turns the slim screen to Dick as several waves pass by, all green. 

Glancing at the device doesn’t tell Dick much, but green typically means good. He relaxes somewhat and observes the tension in Father Todd’s shoulders, the way he avoids looking at Jason’s face, all familiar mannerisms in an unfamiliar way. He’s almost impressed that he’s become so proficient in reading Jason, who tried so hard to stay hidden with his masks. And for a moment, Dick tries to understand how he couldn’t recognize a Jason Todd on the rooftop of a building so long ago, fails to understand why he hadn’t seemed so familiar. The answer won’t come.

“He. I. Your.” Father Todd glares at Jason’s chest. “Friend will be fine.”

“You can call him Red Hood, if it bothers you. And thank you,” Dick says. He watches Father Todd handle the device, which is no larger than an electric razor, noticing the practice in his sweep, starting from head to chest, then shoulder, sides, knees. All areas of frequent stress. “And you just keep that with you at all times?”

Again, Father Todd’s eyes betray him. He glances towards the window as if searching for Batman. “The kids. There’s always something. An emergency.” He falters at Dick’s disbelieving stare and recovers with a curt motion towards the holsters on Jason’s hips. “These things. Red Hood’s guns.” His teeth grit after saying the words. “They have to go.”

Dick stares at where the priest points, a disappointed frown on his face. Two pistols on each hip, one strapped to his thigh, two in the shoulder holster. There’s more probably secreted in other places around his body and still more firepower in the form of incendiary devices. Jason is a one-man army.

For the first time since they’ve started this ridiculous adventure, Dick feels a keen need to laugh. It bubbles up within him, bitter and brown, and he refuses to let it out.

“Are you going to do something about this or will I have to?” Father Todd asks when the silence stretches too long.

Dick looks up. “I understand your concern, Father, but it’ll be better if Hood wakes as he is now, instead of the alternative.”

“The alternative?”

“Wounded and unarmed in a strange place. If it helps, he carries non-lethal rounds.” Except for one clip, but Dick doesn’t think that information will go over well. He’s pretty sure omitting such a thing is considered a sin in the eyes of the church. Jason could probably tell him for sure. Both of them. Dick snorts quietly.

“You say that like it means something, Nightwing, but it doesn’t, not when it comes to the safety or the sanctity of this place,” says Father Todd, voice forceful.

On the bed, Jason twitches, a soft groan escaping his lips. Dick doesn’t hesitate this time, reaching out to grasp Jason’s hand. Jason doesn’t hold his hand back, and for some reason it surprises Dick. He knows Jason is unconscious, knows from previous experience at bedsides that it doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but he feels stressed anyway. His other hand reaches out, thumb running along the leather of Jason’s jacket. Dick holds a loose grip around Jason’s elbow and wishes they were somewhere a little less futuristic. If they’d had to strip Jason of his jacket, Dick would have an excuse to touch Jason’s bare skin and be reassured by the warmth.

He brushes Jason’s hair back as he wanted to do earlier. He catches a soft curl between his thumb and forefinger, smiling a little when Jason’s soft mouth twitches into a frown. “You’re prickly in every universe, aren’t you, Jay?” he says, voice quiet. “Though why I’m here with you, why I’m Batman. It doesn’t make any sense.”

He doesn’t want to puzzle out what it might mean that this universe’s Dick Grayson has donned the cowl. He wonders if he should ask questions, discover if this Batman is the first or the last. But those types of thoughts aren’t going to get them home. Dick pulls away so he can stand and shake some of the tension out of his arms. It’s like he’s absorbed Father Todd’s stress into him

An aborted sound from the bed stops Dick mid-thought. He leans closer.

“Jason?”

Jason groans rolling slightly. His hands fly up to protect his chest, his head and he moans this long, distorted sound that makes Dick’s heart twist in his chest. And he realizes all over again how little he knows about the ordeal Jason suffered, only the ways in which it marked him, defined him.

“Jason. It’s Dick,” he says, projecting calm. “I’m with you.” Whether it’s Dick’s voice or the end of his nightmare, Jason wrenches himself up from the pillows with a gasp. His hand latches onto Dick’s forearm, squeezing tight enough his bones twinge.

Jason swipes his forehead against his shoulder panting. “Where are we?”

“We’re safe. We’re in the priest’s quarters in this old church.” Dick can feel Jason’s eyes searching his from behind the lenses. Eventually, he begins to relax, releasing Dick and slumping back onto the narrow bed. In the background, Father Todd turns away allowing them a moment of privacy.

“How did we go from free falling to getting room and board at the corner church?” Jason finally asks once his breathing evens and the room around Dick stops its spin. He still feels woozy. He hates passing out.

“This universe’s Batman helped with that.”

“ _Batman_ ,” Jason says, sounding vaguely disgusted by Dick’s apparent choice in help. 

Annoyed, Dick says, “You can keep the prodigal son act on ice. I have a feeling _this_ Batman doesn’t deserve it.”

Jason looks up then a frown on his face. “Not B?”

“No. I have a feeling a more handsome man has donned the cowl,” Dick says and waggles his eyebrows. Jason stares for a moment before his eyes widen and it seems to click.

“What did I do to deserve this?” Jason mutters.

“You pissed off a witch with interdimensional powers? Did you hit your head or something?” Dick asks, peevish but also worried. Jason did pass out in the short time they traveled between one universe and the next. He reaches out ready to check Jason for head injuries despite reassurances from this world’s tech.

Jason pushes his hand away, a sullen look on his handsome face. “No. Just sick of you riding my ass every five minutes.”

“About that.” Dick rocks back on the chair’s rear legs and balances there for a few moments while he prepares himself for another fight. It’s all he and Jason every seem to do now, fight, bicker, push and press until they fall away. Jason’s methods are a go-to topic for instant resentment and pain from both sides. “We need to talk about your weapons.”

“My?” Jason’s broad palms begin sweeping over his body checking each holster. His hips rock upwards and his hand darts beneath his tailbone, and Dick looks away suddenly sure Jason keeps a piece there as well. Jason relaxes after finding everything in order. “What’s wrong with my guns?”

“Well, one we’re on church grounds, Jay. There’s an orphanage here,” Dick says. He ticks the list of reasons off on his fingers as he continues, “And the priest who’s letting us stay here is concerned by that combination.”

He holds up the three fingers and tries to smile, off-set something that’s a huge request of Jason. Jason looks unamused.

“Are they asking to confiscate your weapons too?”

“Come on, Jay—”

“No, stop.” Jason props himself up to have this argument. “No way would you let someone take your weapons off you. No way in hell would B.”

“We don’t carry guns, Jason!”

“You know I use rubber bullets! So what is it? Do you think I’d honestly endanger kids?”

Dick leans forward in his chair. “Don’t do that. Don’t put words in my mouth, Jason. This is about them being guns. And a priest who doesn’t know us.”

It’s the way that Dick’s eyes dart to the side that brings Jason’s attention to the other side of the room. He must have been more out of it than he realized if Jason wasn’t aware of the third person in the room. Even with the bowed head and thinner frame, Jason recognizes himself before seeing the priest’s face. His fists clench. “How the hell did Jason Todd wind up a priest?” His comment sends a dull flush across the priest’s cheeks.

Father Todd steps forward angrily. “That’s Jonas Todd, my son,” he sneers, using the epitaph as Jason would the word asshole. “I was offered a second chance at life and I dedicated that life to the cause I believed in. This city. This church. This flock.” He gestures at Jason’s prone form. “I’m glad that you are up, as it were. We have a few things to discuss.”

Jason holds up his hand, stopping the priest before he can continue. “Sorry, Father, but you’re not taking my weapons from me. I can give you my word that I will not draw them while on church grounds. Anyway, they’re not loaded, and I only carry non-lethal rounds.”

Father Todd narrows his eyes. “Except for a single clip. Where is it?” He asks, eyes skipping over Jason’s body. “In the protective lining of your right jacket pocket?” His words wipe the sneer from Jason’s face.

“They’re in case of an emergency,” Jason finally says. “You tell him that?” He directs his question to Nightwing despite already knowing the answer.

Dick eyes the priest thoughtfully before turning back to Jason. “You know I didn’t.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jason says, eyes cold and accusing. “You’ve been loving every minute of this. Well, you’re not getting what you want this time.” He catches the priest’s gaze and sneers. “And neither are you.”

“Can’t you just trust me?” It’s not lost on Dick as he’s pleading this question that this is where they started this mess. He closes his eyes against what might be in Jason’s eyes, and tries to take a calming breath. Part of him wants to lean into Jason’s space, strain toward his heat and push. But he doesn’t. And it’s almost easy to put on a smile when he opens his eyes.

“Jason, please.”

“No, we both know I can’t,” Jason interrupts him. “When are you going to get that through your pretty little head? The Bat casts a long shadow and you’re never gonna stray from it.”

Neither of them can respond to Jason’s quiet proclamation. Dick is barely able to form his thoughts when a flash of purple light slides over the far wall. A small hole unfolds in the wall opposite the bed. Inside the hole spins the universe, spiraling clouds and waves that twist and flex in a sea of stars.

Klarion stumbles out in a rush. His hair looks mussed and there’s a cut in his pants. He glances around the room, a distasteful frown on his face. Then he spies Jason and Dick. “I thought I got rid of you!” he shouts and begins forming a ball of energy in his hands.

“Oh, you stepped in it now, asshole,” Jason snarls, reaching for his gun. “I got your moment right here.”

Klarion’s mouth opens for a spell or a retort, whatever it is doesn’t matter, when a harsh whistling explodes from the portal. Klarion throws himself to the ground, dodging a trio of flying blades.

The room goes silent when three knives land in the wall, vibrating at the force of the throw.

Dick spins away from the bed, weapons crackling in his hands to meet the unseen threat. It comes in the form of a sleek man clad in black and a dark hood with aviator goggles sliding through the portal.

“It’s a Talon,” Dick shouts moving the second their feet hit the ground. The stranger merely cocks his head and surveys the room, flickering from Klarion to Dick then turns to the bed. He drops to a crouch and hisses when he spies Jason.

“You!”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

The Talon moves like smoke, easily bypassing Dick’s attack. Dick twirls his sticks in his hands then lunges, sweeping high then middle. The Talon dances backwards pressed by a series of quick feints, then leaps forward, powerful legs spinning in a kick that staggers Dick. A second series of kicks sends Dick slamming against the wall.

With Dick out of the way, the Talon drags three daggers free from a bandolier to hold between gloved knuckles like claws.

A bat-a-rang deflects the first knife. Batman tumbles through the window, a blur of twilight rushing into an attack. He and the Talon trade blows so fast Jason can barely follow. Batman ducks under a kick, and lands a hard punch against the Talon’s cheek. The second punch sends the Talon stumbling back.

When Batman swings a third time, he misses by inches. Talon ducks under his arm, sliding outside of Batman’s guard. Talon catches Batman’s arm just behind his gauntlet and brings a blow down on Batman’s elbow. Reflexively, the elbow bends, and Talon is able to get his hands wrapped around Batman’s wrist and under his elbow. It’s just a simple lever of momentum. Talon yanks the whole arm back over Batman’s head, and followed by a heel-sweep, he drops Batman to the floor. Talon follows him to the floor with a quick punch to the jaw.

Then Talon begins advancing on the bed again. He draws knives into both hands, and asks, “Why do you chase me, little bird?”

“I don’t know you, man,” Jason says, affronted. “And I make it a point to avoid owl enthusiasts.”

“Your words are always lies,” Talon hisses, then seamlessly launches another attack.

Father Todd leaps, grabbing Jason and rolling them to the floor. Jason grunts when they land then stiffens at the light touch at his hip holster. When the Talon leaps atop the bed, ready to strike, he finds two barrels pointing at him. Jason holds one; Father Todd the other. They fire in tandem and the sharp sting of the rubber bullets sends the stranger dancing backwards, into the portal which closes in a rush of flame.

The room is left in agonized silence, broken by Dick's groan. "What was that?" he asks, climbing to his feet.

With the danger gone, Klarion pops back, brushing dust his clothing. “That was exciting, but I must go. Too-da-loo.”

“No you don’t” Dick shouts, leaping forward.

A ring of light flashes beneath Klarion and he disappears, leaving Dick to tumble through empty space. He rolls to his feet. “I almost had him.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Jason pushes himself from the ground and circles to where Dick has moved to help Batman to his feet. He takes a moment to size up this Batman, who stands taller than Dick by at least three inches. Jason bets there are lifts in those boots. Well, this new Batman is certainly vain enough to be Dick Grayson. He moves a little different, leading with his fists rather than his feet, but who knows. Maybe this Dick grew up in a boxing ring.

“And where the hell have you been?” Jason asks, addressing Batman.

“Around.” Batman crouches down to inspect the ground where Klarion stood. He stands, and the trench coat hits the floor with a quiet sweep of air. “There was another creodine spike. It’s a term that describes the frequencies preceding temporal phenomena,” he continues, noting Dick and Jason’s puzzled expressions. “Like time travel or dimensional travel. I was following one before you two appeared. The same signature appeared just before your friends showed up.”

“I don’t know about you,” says Jason. “But most of my friends don’t try and shove a knife in my gut.”

“See, something tells me you get that kind of reaction everywhere you go,” Batman says with a little smirk.

Jason glares. “They’re not my friends.”

Dick looks at the wall where the first void had left a faintly sparkling residue. “We know Klarion though. He’s a Lord of Chaos, and the guy who spelled us out here. The guy Klarion’s running from though?” Dick shakes his head. “The Court of Owls weren’t in the vicinity when we arrived. They like to stay away from public fights. And the sun. Something must have gone wrong.” He looks at Jason. “We have to get back.”

Jason throws a hand in the air, exasperated. “That’s what I’ve been saying,” he says. “Can you help with that, Batman?”

“We’ve mastered interstellar technology here, but not interdimensional. I do know a few people who might be able to help,” Batman says. “I can also give you the frequency. At the very least, you’ll know when one of these portals are nearby.”

Dick holds out his gauntlet, and Jason can only scoff. “What is that going to do?”

“Nightwing might have upgraded some of my programs,” Dick says with a little grin. “He called it a souvenir.”

“So, what’s this then?” Jason asks, pointing between Dick and Batman. They exchange a glance then Batman turns.

“Another souvenir,” says Batman.

Jason glowers at them. “This isn’t a vacation.”

“You’re right. I’m just lucky enough to have met some rather helpful people so far,” Dick says rather smugly. It shouldn’t bother Jason but something about the scene and the knowledge that Dick is making headway into getting them home gnaws at him.

Batman grins. “This guy probably makes friends wherever he goes.”

Dick chuckles, ready to agree when something catches his eye. Father Todd remains where he’d rolled on the floor with his gun pointing at empty air. The look in his eyes is haunted, afraid. Dick approaches him cautiously. “Father Todd, are you alright?”

Batman flies to his side, fingers folding over the gun shaking in Father Todd’s hands. Rattled, Father Todd drops the gun and stares blindly at the place it falls.

“I swore I wouldn’t. I swore it would not happen again,” he says, trapped some place Jason doesn’t want to imagine. Jason turns away, shoulders hunching when he hears the priest’s soft refrain.

“Forgive me.”

“It’s alright, father. Non-lethal rounds,” Batman says softly. He cups Father Todd’s cheek in one gloved hand and tilts his face up. “There’s no blood on your hands today. You saved a life.”

“Batman, I.” Father Todd visibly shakes. He glances around, seeming to become aware of his surroundings. He stumbles to his feet only to be steadied by Batman. He brushes those hands away, stricken to Dick’s eyes. “I’m fine, I’m fine. I just. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Training probably,” Jason drawls, collecting his gun from the floor.

Father Todd turns slowly “Excuse me?”

Jason crosses his arms. “You heard me. Don’t think I didn’t notice how familiar you were with a piece in your hand. You must have led quite a life before joining the seminary, huh? But I don’t care about that. We were talking about how to get us out of here.” He turns his attention back to Batman, effectively dismissing the priest from the conversation, or so he thought.

“I’m sorry, Red Hood,” Father Todd says, voice tight. “But we are not done. You and your Nightwing might need help, but I can’t condone your methods. If you want to stay here, you have to secure your weapons.”

Jason whirls around. “Were you not here five seconds ago? I needed them then. And I sure as hell will need them again.”

“I can’t risk it,” Father Todd says. “I can’t, not knowing the kind of path you’ve walked in your own lifetime. And frankly, I don’t care to know the details because I can tell it’s one steeped in the kind of violence that the Church abhors.”

Jason takes a step towards him. “Oh yeah?”

“Don’t you feel the weight of this violence on your soul? I know I do. I wear these sins like a cloak stained red with the blood of those lives I took. It haunts me.” Father Todd wipes his hands down his jacket as if to erase the wet sensation sliding down his palms. “I can see it with you.”

“You can see my soul all the way from over there?” Jason asks, mildly. “I thought I left it down in Hell. Part of my parole.”

“This isn’t a game. Your outcomes are the sum of your actions. And I know that you hurt just as many people as you pretend to save,” Father Todd says. “You know it’s not right.”

“My methods are my message,” says Jason. “Wrong or right, they work.”

“Aren’t you a hero?” Father Todd asks, voice harsh.

Jason stares hard at this skewed reflection and laughs darkly. “You know, I ask myself the same question, Father. Most days, the answer is no.”

Dick frowns, feeling that familiar tightening in his chest when Jason mentions his death and resurrection and his ambivalence to his status with the family. The dark humor masks the tragic circumstances in Jason’s life or how far he’s had to walk alone. He reaches for him, Jason, his brother, but Jason neatly sidesteps him.

“Cut the crap, Father. This isn’t about me or my guns. This is about you being afraid of sliding back into something you left. Well, let me preach to you now. That fear is a pit inside of you, a hot green well waiting to drag you down into it, and you’re going to keep sliding in because you’re trying to control something, anything, because you know you’re in way over your head. With us. With him.” He jerks his thumb at Batman. “But I have no fears, Father; I know what path I’m walking on. You wouldn’t be so scared if you did too.

“Yeah,” Jason says when the priest’s jaw clamps shut. “It’s hard to argue with a mirror, ain’t it?”

The room loses the last of its warmth after Jason’s cold tirade. Even Dick seems to have withdrawn from Jason’s side, disappointed and probably upset. If his lenses were up, he’d be giving that laser-eyed stare, the one that infuriates Jason. If their interrupted conversation hadn’t reminded Jason, then Dick’s body language would’ve given him away. Dick is a Bat through and through.

He’s not going to apologize though, Jason decides. Not when he’s feeling like his own back is to the wall. First Dick and now this strange version of him. A priest. A pacifist. A hypocrite. Instead, Jason glares at everyone in the room.

Father Todd’s voice breaks the silence. “I don’t think you should have brought them here. You shouldn’t have come here at all.”

“Why not?” Batman sounds belligerent at first, but is immediately conciliatory. “You said I was always welcome.”

“You were. You are. But, we agreed. We said.” Father Todd’s voice trails away. “I said I needed time.”

Batman says, “Jason,” and the wealth of feeling in that one word is staggering. Father Todd freezes, a look of horror crawling over his face. He takes a step back.

“You mean Jonas,” he whispers. “Jonas Todd.”

“Jason,” Batman repeats, taking his hand, and if his voice is soft, his touch is so gentle the priest doesn’t even flinch.

“You said you wouldn’t dig into my past. You said you wouldn’t.”

“I didn’t. But, he calls this one Jason.”

Father Todd stares at Batman, then shakes his head. “You’re lying to me right now. You already knew.”

Batman shifts, shoulders rolling beneath his trench and that’s when Jason truly sees the Grayson in him. It’s the same move he’s seen Dick perform plenty of times back when he was in short pants. It’s one of Dick’s few telegraphs, a sign he was about to tackle a complex routine on the training floor, dive headfirst into an argument with Batman—sometimes Jason forgets how many there were—or fly into the unknown.

“Why does it matter if I know your secrets, Jason? I’m not one to share them, not when you do so much good here.” Batman closes the distance between them. “It doesn’t matter why you chose to take up the mantle, only that you serve it faithfully.” His voice is low without the encoder, soothing, but Father Todd shakes his head, hands coming up to fend off those words.

“You don’t get it. You’re standing there with all the cards. You always seem to know everything. The right thing to do, the right words to say. Now, you know my deepest secrets. You know my name and if you know that, then you know I’m not a real priest,” he hisses, causing both Dick and Jason’s brows to rise. “What else do you know?”

“I know that Jason Peter Todd died defending families trying to escape into the church during the Gotham Riots. I know that a Father Jonas Todd surfaced in the immediate aftermath of Darkseid’s destruction. The death records, the shaved grave marker, all clues.” Batman makes a gesture to touch the father’s cheek. He must think better of it because his fingers brush Father Todd’s shoulder before settling in a loose fist at his side. “Your return was a miracle, Jason.”

“And you put it all together.” The priest snaps his fingers. “Just like that. Something that strange and you believed it?”

“We live in a world where remarkable things happen every day. Some would say that returning from the grave isn’t so strange. Or it can be debated as a miracle.” A dark grin. “The things you provide to the people who need you are. Trust me.”

“No. You can’t turn this around. I’m not a sucker, so don’t play me like one. I want to know how you can know everything about me but stand here in a mask asking for my trust. How can you ask it of me and not extend it in return?” Father Todd looks away. “And how could I have given it to you for all this time and not realize our uneven trade?”

“You can trust me,” Batman says.

“No,” Father Todd sneers. “I really cannot.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Jason jeers under his breath. Both Father Todd and Batman go still.

“Perhaps we can continue this in private,” says Batman. He and Father Todd stare at each other, then Father Todd gives an imperceptible nod and begins to cross the room. Batman, however, waits beside the door and it makes the Father falter, and look like he already regrets agreeing.

Once again, they’re caught in each other’s gaze before Father Todd moves past Batman and turns into the doorway, leading the way. Batman’s hand reaches out and presses momentarily to Father Todd’s back, a shiver of motion between them. Then the door closes.

Their abrupt exit leaves Jason and Dick in silence.

Jason stares at the slamming door. “Fuck me,” he groans, bringing a hand to his head. “On a scale of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ to ‘Game of Thrones,’ how messed up is this universe?”

Dick doesn’t even hesitate. “We’re like ‘The Thorn Birds’ turned up to eleven.”

Jason’s laughter ends in a deep groan. “Fuck. Don’t make me laugh.” He drops back to the bed. “They’re not us. You know that right? They’re not, and the Justice Juniors weren’t either.”

“Yeah. I know.” Dick catches Jason’s gaze, holds it. “But what makes you say that? It can’t be you wanting to comfort me.”

Dick smiles at him in that particular way. Like they’re on the same side of an inside joke. It makes Jason’s chest hurt.

“Dream on, boy wonder.” Jason tries to force a smile in return but has to look away before it cracks.

“Let me tell you, Jay, that’s not what I dream about at all.” Dick laughs lightly. “It’s either nightmares or landing in a field of Peeps and having to eat my way free.”

Jason doesn’t have to feign his shiver. “You’re sure that isn’t a nightmare?” he quips, and this time Dick’s laughter doesn’t sound strained.

Sometimes Jason wonders what he’d have to do to increase the frequency of these moments where he’s quiet inside and Dick’s listening and things don’t seem so bad. Then Jason remembers who Dick really is and why he can’t afford to let his guard down.

“Look, Dick,” he begins. “It’s not that I don’t trust you when it comes to the big stuff. I know what kind of man you are. I know what it is you do, on your own turf or with your Titans. I get it. But we both know I’m a ticking time bomb.”

“Jay,” Dick begins, but Jason can’t let him interrupt.

“No, I’m serious. It’s probably on my file in the cave. Or maybe B went ahead and added a scarlet R in the corner for rabid. He’s waiting for the day when I make a mistake. He’s waiting for me to do the one thing I vowed to do. And the thing of it is, I am too. When it happens, when I put an end to that clown, I know which side you’re going to be on.” Jason smiles then, a bleak look in his eye. “Would you look at that, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I do trust you after all.”

Dick shakes his head. “I never understood why you see anyone’s loyalty to Bruce as absolute devotion. Or worship. I don’t know why you can’t see that it’s a part of something more. It’s Bruce and it’s Cass, Damian, Tim, everyone. Including you. If you know the kind of man I am, then you know that I know my team, my family. I know you. I trust you.

“Not blindly though, Jay, my eyes are wide open here, but I do trust you. I don’t think I ever stopped.” And he wonders sometimes what it would take to make that happen. Or what Jason might do to ensure Dick falls in line with his world view.

Jason looks at Dick, really looks at him and sees Dick’s cheeks crease, sees a serious smile but a genuine one. Dick believes what he’s saying. He trusts Jason to walk some imagined path and somehow avoid any and all pitfalls. But what’s going to happen when Jason doesn’t? “Look, you’re ten years too late for the mentorship rally to work. Please stop.”

Dick sighs. “I don’t know why you do that. I don’t know why you keep telling me who I am. Haven’t you been paying attention to this dimension hopping? I’m a man of hidden depths.”

“Didn’t we just have this conversation? They’re not us, Dickie. And we shouldn’t even try to emulate them.”

“I’d hate to think of us becoming them,” Dick concedes, and Jason knows he means the stilted way they hold themselves apart from even each other. And he knows that Dick is thinking about this Batman, who is so much more like Bruce than his Dick will ever be. He’s a Dick who took to every one of Bruce’s rules about getting close to no one and became this isolated, robotic creature right down to the high-tech power suit and the automatic way he steps forward to keep his priest out of danger. But it hurts to hear him say what he’s feeling and know they’re on such different pages that they’re not even reading the same book.

As much as it hurts, Jason’s not oblivious, not like Dick pretends to be. He can decipher the pettiness in Klarion’s spell. And sending Dick and himself to bear witness to never ending drama of other Jasons and Dicks seems fitting, except they don’t suffer from this kind of romantic tension. Never have, never will. Jason knows because there’s this stunted part of him that searched for it and came back nursing fresh rejection. He’d thought he’d ripped that part of himself out and let blood and venom fill the space. Seeing it within other versions of himself is twisting something inside him, makes him want to ask questions he’s long put away. He has to say these twisted versions aren’t like them. He has to say that to remind himself from time to time. It’s easier though, if the reminder is aimed at someone else—in this case, Dick.

Jason breaks their stare. “Why are you looking at me like that? I don’t like it.”

“How am I looking at you?”

Jason swallows back the answer, because how is he supposed to say Dick’s looking at him like he wants something.

“Just don’t, okay.” Jason rises from the bed. “Let’s get out of here before something else goes wrong.” He crosses to the door before Dick can even form a protest.

The corridor is noticeably cold when they enter. Dick suspects radial heating piped into the bedrooms, but not the halls. One way to keep a sleepy parish awake, he supposes.

“If I were a hurt priest, where would I go?” He asks, forcing his tone to be lighter.

“My bedroom,” Jason mutters. “Especially if I had a handsome guard dog chasing after me.”

Dick glances up, startled, but Jason is already striding towards the corridor’s entrance, which branches into three directions. Dick stops his blind search with a gesture. He taps his gauntlet revealing a two-dimensional plan of the building.

“You got more than an upgrade from the Junior Justice kids, didn’t you?”

“I got a gauntlet too. Souvenir,” Dick says. He taps again and a small blinking dot appears north of their position.

Jason whistles softly. “You tagged Batman?”

“Please. He has so much wearable tech his trench is probably a sentient AI. No. I tagged the priest.” Dick closes the screen. “This way.” They turn left and follow the corridor past empty rooms and empty walls before coming to the end. There’s a door mostly open, allowing hazy light to pool at the entrance.

“This has got to be it,” Jason says, before striding through the door—only to stop in his tracks, stunned.

Batman and Father Todd are wrapped in each other’s arms, clinging to one another as their lips move together hesitantly in an intense kiss.

Jason curses softly under his breath. The noise is enough to startle and end the intimate embrace. Batman and Father Todd part, chests heaving, mouths swollen and wet. A second glance reveals Batman has removed his cowl exposing a side of Dick Grayson that Jason’s never seen, heavy-lidded and unsteady. This Dick is older, and his face is a little more lined, his eyes a little more shadowed. It’s easier to concentrate on this guy rather than the man wearing Jason’s face. The priest looks so dazed right now, like he’s been kissed for hours instead of these few minutes, like he’s discovered every good thing in Dick Grayson’s arms.

“If this isn’t another shit show in the making,” Jason says. “The secret’s out and five minutes later, you’re already dropping to your knees”

Batman reacts to the venom in Jason’s tone by turning toward Jason and Dick, and subtly moving his body between them and Father Todd. His fingers clench into a fist in the gauntlets, and Jason can’t help but watch the motion with growing anger. Jason can clearly see this isn’t a Batman clone, this is Richard John Grayson in all his stubborn, stupid, Golden Boy glory. He’s the Good Soldier Bruce always wanted right down to the rugged stubble and narrow stare. Jason grows nauseous from the sight. Somehow, that’s even worse than if it were B standing in front of them.

“Jason, stop,” Dick whispers from his side. But there’s that same edge to his voice. Like he can’t trust Jason not to pick a fight. There’s a ghost of a touch against his arm, and Jason steps out of reach.

“Oh, come on, Dickie. You can’t tell me you’re happy about this.” Jason remembers the look on Dick’s face when Junior Justice Nightwing and Red shared a kiss in that other universe. The startled look Dick flashed him when Jason had called this Batman handsome. “Unless we’re lying. In which case, I'm just thrilled to know I wind up a repressed martyr in every universe."

“ _Dickie_?” Father Todd echoes, turning toward Batman. “Is that your name?”

“No, it’s Richard,” Dick replies reflexively. Doesn’t even break from staring Jason down. It takes him a second to remember that Father Todd wouldn’t be asking him. Batman tenses up, a minute movement only noticeable to Dick or Jason. Only Dick recognizes the consternation in the way his mouth tightens.

“Is that your name?” Father Todd asks again, to only Batman. “Richard? Which do you prefer?"

"Batman."

Jason and Dick exchanges glances at the confirmation that this dude had to be trained by Bruce Wayne. And if there’s a Bruce Wayne here, there’s a way home. Still, Dick feels faint with mortification realizing how much he sounds like Bruce, even one across time and space.

“Yeah? Well, I like Richard,” Father Todd replies.

Batman says, acquiescing finally, "You weren’t supposed to know."

"You don't think I can keep a secret?" Father Todd touches his collar. "I know something of that you know."

Dick speaks up before he realizes it. “Our full name is Richard John Grayson. Of the Flying Graysons. I’m sure Haley’s Circus existed here too.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Father Todd asks.

Dick looks at Batman. “I’m an expert in knowing what Batman needs,” he says, not proudly, but not unkind to himself either. “But mostly because I thought you ought to know. I know you like keeping your secrets close but can’t stand it in others.”

Batman looks at Dick, eyes hard when he says, “My secrets could burden him or put him in danger. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Typical Dick Fucking Grayson.”

All heads turn toward Jason. He pushes off the wall, and gets up close to Batman and the way he’s smiling is all teeth. He’s practically sneering as he says, “None of us are as good as you, right? So, we can’t be trusted with your secrets. You can have ours but we can’t have yours. Why is that? Oh, I know. It’s because we can’t all shine as golden as you no matter how hard we try. We’re not going to clean the dirt and blood from our hands so why not just,” Jason reaches out a hand, presses it square in the middle of Batman’s chest and shoves, “push us away, yeah?”

“I’ve learned not to take it personally. But looks like the good father hasn’t gotten the message.” Then he steps back.

“It’s not about trust,” Jason says, eyeing Father Todd. “There’s no way to reach him. He’s going to constantly have the upper hand, and you won’t even know it. He wants something from you and you don’t even know what it is. You’ll _keep trying_ but . . .. ”

Jason loses steam.

“But you’re just gonna keep being a phony priest, a phony hero, so what does it matter.” He turns back to Dick. “We’re getting in the middle of something that has nothing to do with us.”

It’s like Jason’s words have sapped the oxygen from the room, and Dick can’t find the words to tell Jason that he is none of those things, not beneath them, not a pretender, not as alone as he tries to be. But the distance between them feels vast and the air charged. The wrong word maybe the thing to set it all ablaze.

No one seems ready to speak, each lost in their own conflicted thoughts. Jason lifts his head only to find Father Todd’s gaze still upon him, the defiance dying to a pensive frown.

“You never asked me why I started coming here,” Batman says, turning to the priest. “You never asked why I spent the morning hours watching over this place, or why I would sometimes visit after sunset. You never asked and I was grateful.”

“I thought perhaps you found solace in this place. I thought you found peace. I thought I, rather the church,” Father Todd flounders awkwardly. “I thought it was something you needed.”

“You are more right than you know.” Batman takes the priest’s hand. “Jason. The reason I came here is because of the orphanage. My son is here.”

Father Todd’s jaw drops. “Son,” he whispers, eyes searching the hero’s solemn face. “Tommy,” he says, a realization dawning in his eyes. “John-Thomas Grayson is your son? But. But why? Richard.” He reaches up to cup his cheek.

“Because he’s safe here. With you.” Batman, _Richard_ , leans into the priest’s hand. “Meeting you was an accident. I didn’t plan for it. I didn’t expect anything to come of it. I sought the refuge of this place, the peace in our conversations. It’s only after that day where I . . . Jason, I was happy then and I’m happy now. With you. It’s the only happiness I’ve known in so long. And I am just as selfish as it’s been suggested, because I don’t want to stop. Please, Jason. Please.”

Father Todd leans in close. “Richard,” he breathes before pressing their lips together, the touch as soft as benediction and changes quickly, becoming long, drugging kisses with trembling hands and a Dick Grayson who whispers, “please, please, please,” in lieu of drawing breath.

Something about this moment, this strange recreation of a kiss, makes Dick angry. Seeing their fingers lace together blows his anger to fury. He’s furious to know that this version of himself is pursuing some selfish desire while his son is waiting in the orphanage. Just like the younger version of himself pushed all thoughts of the mission or consequence aside to kiss Red on a rooftop in the bright of day. Dick wouldn’t have been that reckless even as Robin. He couldn’t afford to be. None of them can.

Dick stands, intent on saying something, stopping this. He wouldn’t do this. He _couldn’t_ do what these versions of himself were doing. And he doesn’t want and they shouldn’t either. He takes a step forward then stumbles into Jason as the ground shifts beneath his feet.

It feels like the air grows thinner and Dick can feel the sweat drip at his collar. A tinny sound chimes from his gauntlet. His palm covers the sound, which beats shrilly in warning.

The world tilts sideways disappearing with a decided click.


	7. Chapter 7

Klarion’s magic whirls around like a funnel cloud and Dick and Jason hang suspended in the storm. All at once, the oily clouds scatter, and they drop into the middle of a rain-slicked street. Dick slides against Jason’s back and together they circle slowly to get their bearings.

They’re in a more familiar Gotham City, one that recognized her sons and welcomed them home the best way she knew: with a back-alley brawl. Dick’s eyes narrow, calculating. At least twenty men surround them, all varying ages carrying crowbars, clubs, and vintage pistols. The air smells of sweat and blood.

Their departure from the previous world had been abrupt, and their travel through the strange magical portal seamless. Dick retains a chest full of righteous anger and something bitter in his throat, something that tastes like resentment. He feels like he lost a chance at righting some wrong, exposing some truth. The sensation is fleeting, intangible and slipping his grasp, however, like that universe altogether.

Dick doesn’t know if it was the chance to fix those things that were so broken there. Hasn’t a clue how he’d even have begun such a task. But Dick Grayson wouldn’t abandon family like that. He couldn’t. And a cold fear expands through his chest to think he can’t change it now. And he doesn’t have time to let the thought grow.

Someone shouts, breaking the standstill. “It’s more of dem masks! Get ‘em!”

Dick flies forward, barreling into the nearest attacker. He spins under a punch and hooks the swinging arm with his elbow and kicks, sending two men flying. He drops his human counterweight with a quick punch. With each blow, every well-placed kick, Dick feels some of his control slide into place. The fury evaporates from him, and when he catches Jason’s glance, Dick returns it with a toothy grin.

A loud crash sounds from above. The air is filled with shattered glass. A heavy body goes sailing out the window to land inside a city trash receptacle. The lid closes with an iron clang.

A lean figure drops from the second story fire escape to land lightly in a puddle of yellow lamplight. He’s tall and rangy and wears a black domino over his sharp blue eyes and a red ball cap pulled low on his head. He looks over the crowd, doing a double take at seeing Dick’s trim body balanced on the shoulder and heads of three trembling men. Then, he reaches over his shoulder and pulls a wooden slugger free.

“Sorry bluebird,” he says, tipping his cap at Dick. “Would’ve come down earlier to help, but I had to take out the trash.”

A grizzled bruiser stares at the trash can in open-mouth horror. “That was the boss!” he wails.

The vigilante laughs. “Yeah. I guess it was.” He taps the bat against the lid. “What’re you gonna do about it?” The bruiser lumbers after him with a roar and the fight resumes.

Two men lunge forward, a messy blur of heavy hands and haymakers so wild, Jason could dodge them with his eyes closed. He ducks the clumsiest punch he’s ever seen in his _life_ before dropping his attacker with a heavy left cross. One bad guy down—whether from a glass jaw or shock doesn’t matter.

“Why can’t we land someplace helpful?” Jason says after delivering another punishing blow. “I hate wasting time on these nothing fights.”

Dick somersaults through the air, a tight ball of black light unfurling into a kick that sends bad guy number four crashing into the brick wall. “Oh, I don’t know,” he calls, popping up in a split kick, “It feels kind of refreshing. Like a vacation to the good old days.”

Jason snorts. “Oh yeah. Hot pants and pixie boots. Men in rubber masks. Revolvers instead of assault rifles.”

“I don’t know how you can make the lack of dangerous weaponry a negative thing,” Dick replies.

“Just one of many gifts.” Jason swings backwards, avoiding a wooden plank, then catches the next punch mid-throw. His grin slashes through the shadowed alleyway as he stares down at his young opponent, frowning at the dawning terror in his attacker's eyes. Jason remembers that feeling, the sudden danger, knowing that you’re outmatched, understanding the fight was already over. The only difference is Jason would immediately scramble to change the outcome. He would never stop fighting for a chance to make things go his way. Not this kid.

“And you. You’re not ready for the big-time, kid.” Jason sends him stumbling backwards with a hard shove. “Go home. You got three seconds or I’m coming after you.”

The kid begins his stuttering retreat, but he stops short in the soft halo of a street lamp. His tawny eyes dart between Jason and Dick. “I ain’t afraid of you!” he shouts.

Jason took a step forward. “You will be,” he growls. The kid dropped into a dead sprint before Jason’s graveled voice died. A familiar weight drapes against his side. Jason shrugs it away with a glare. “What?”

“Nothing. Just thinking about the past,” says Dick, grin amused, and takes a deliberate step away. It made Jason’s ears hot to think he’s so obvious, but after the last trip, hell, even after seeing the first version of them embracing, he’s felt the need for a little space. At least until he gets his head together. “I think you made an impression.”

Jason glances at Dick from the corner of his eye looking for a clue to what that even means. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up instead of finding a way to stop dropping in this mess.”

Dick’s hands come down to his waist and he shrugs, an elegant move that ripples across his tight black suit. “We’re already deep in this rabbit hole. I don’t see how much further down we can go.”

Another body goes flying and the third member of their impromptu beat down steps out of the doorway. “Thank you for the help, bluebird,” he drawls, sounding every bit of Gotham as portrayed during the silver screen’s golden age. He sounds more Gotham than _Jason_ , and that’s saying something considering the Spanish accent smoothing his vocal chords to honeyed whiskey. “But before you go, you gotta teach me those moves.”

Dick turns to offer a friendly smile that quickly changes to a frown. On closer inspection, he sees a familiar stickiness to the shirt clinging to their friend’s side. Knife wound. He ducks close to the wavering figure. “Not anytime soon. You’ll need to get this wound taken care of, Red, uh.” Dick looks at Jason, who shrugs. It’s obvious the guy is this universe’s Jason, same age, same height, but thirty pounds lighter and armed with a fat bat instead of bullets. “Red Cap?”

“Hood,” Hood says proudly. “Short for Red Hoodlum and this?” He lifts the hand revealing a bloody palm. “This ain’t nothing the trip to the doc won’t fix.”

Dick exchanges a look with Jason. “We should help you with that,” Dick says, slowly.

“No need to worry about me.” Hood grunts when Dick captures his waist, steadying his listing motion. “Then again, how can I say no to you, bluebird.” He hangs a long arm over Dick’s shoulder and flutters his sooty lashes. “My hero.”

Dick stares at him for a full moment before a soft laugh spills from his lips. There’s a note in it, a startled delight that Jason hasn’t heard in a long time. Dick’s regular laughter he’s heard more than enough over the past year. The grating cheer, the smugness, even the exasperation is always so clear, and over the past few hours, he’s even heard it in stereo. But Jason hasn’t heard this tone, which brings Jason back to short pants and Dick crooning on the phone. Jason scowls.

“Laying it on a little thick there, aren’t you?” Jason asks, annoyed that he’s not sure which asinine hero he’s addressing. This version of him that’s clearly flirting with Dick, or Dick that’s lapping it up like a thirsty dog.

“Don’t know why you’re partnered with that stick in the mud,” Hood continues as if Jason hadn’t spoken. “You should stay around here for a while. I mean. You already have the costume.” He thumps his finger on the emblem spanning Dick’s chest. “And the moves.”

“I don't know—that thing with the bat and the fire escape was pretty breathtaking. But we can discuss all this after we get you to a doctor.”

“Sure thing, bluebird. We should probably call Batwoman in on this too.”

Jason’s head snaps towards them. “Batwoman?” Jason asks, sharply. “Not Batman?”

Hood draws himself tall, a thundercloud brewing under his grin. “Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

“About as much as you would,” Jason mutters, turning his back on them. He needed to focus. It seems as if more things are different in this montage of Gotham’s past. He turns his attention back to Dick. “So, what are you thinking? We drop this guy off and get see if we can phone home?”

Dick glances up into the night sky. “I don’t know if that’s going to work,” he admits.

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it what we’re missing in this era,” Dick says. “No satellites. No microchips. And I can’t think of a known power source strong enough to sustain a transmission through dimensional space.”

Jason glares at Dick because it’s easier than doing nothing. That’s what they have right now, nothing.

“What’s the matter, bluebird?”

Dick hefts Hood against him. “We’re a long way from home and we’re trying to figure out a way to get back. But don’t worry about it. We’re going to get you help first.”

A scrambling sound comes from the alley’s entrance, interrupting him. One of the thugs stumbles away from the upturned trash can. His wide eyes travels between the three of them and he makes the wrong decision. Two sharp knives fly in the air. One whizzes by Jason, misses by a mile, and the other turns slowly, end over end, towards Dick.

Everything happens at once. Hood cries out as Dick curls a foot through his legs and falls backwards, sending them toward the hard stone. The gun is in Jason’s hand since he heard the noise, trigger pressed. The bullet spirals out, nicking the blade and changing its trajectory from Dick to the wall north of him. The thug starts running.

Should’ve stayed down.” Jason hefts the gun into his off-hand and studies the body bobbing away. But it’s not Dick who calls out in protest. It’s his alternate self who flips his bat into the air, only to catch the handle at the last moment. He holds it out between him and Jason like he’s brandishing a sword.

“We don’t do guns in this town,” Hood announces.

Jason knocks the bat away. “I figured. But a gun is a tool. There’s always more than one way to make use of a tool.” Jason throws the gun. He grins when the silver blur collides with the fleeing criminal sending him sprawling face-first into the ground. “I learned that lesson a long time ago.” He turns a dark look Dick’s direction. “Maybe one day you will too.”

And Jason stalks off to retrieve his weapon.

Red Hood whistles. “Your partner may be a stick in the mud, bluebird, but he sure has style.”

Jason has seemed a little on edge since they first dropped into this fight. But where Dick has used the fight to burn away his lingering anger, Jason still seems consumed by it. It’s almost as if he’s going out of his way to be more dangerous. Dick wonders if it’s because of Jason’s holier-than-thou alter ego, if he’s playing his own devil on his shoulder. Or maybe it was how much he’d revealed in his clash with Batman and Father Todd. Every member of Batman’s team played it close to the vest, it was what they knew, but no one kept himself as secretive, as hidden as Jason. He wore two masks after all.

It could be something simpler, though. It could be the kiss, the kisses. The way he’s seen a mirror of themselves fall so desperately into each other’s arms and kiss like lovers do. He wonders if the sight perplexes and rattles Jason as it does Dick. He just doesn’t know. He also feels like he should.

Throughout this entire ordeal, Jason has been asking him why. Why Dick is looking at him, looking out for him. Why Dick is so ready to jump into danger for him. Why Dick can’t leave him alone. Bringing Jason back into the fold can’t explain everything, neither can a sense of brotherhood towards a man who shudders at the word. Honestly, Dick doesn’t have an answer that isn’t changing.

But he wants one. Right now, he needs one.

Dick tears his gaze away from Jason’s retreating figure. “He’s got something alright.”

Dick swings through the air with Red Hoodlum in his arms, enjoying the contrast between this Gotham from the 1940s, and the one engraved on his future. The air seems grittier, like a layer of dust swirls through the night. The stars seem brighter though, closer, and the city still unfurls underneath in a spread of light and shadow, each welcoming in their own way.

This place seems like it’s been displaced in time, preserved from a ‘40s film reel and any second, Uncle Sam and Mayor Miles Gordon would appear before them, bodies stiff and voices urging all strapping young patriots to join the war. There’s a buzz in the air. Something higher and lighter than the weariness of their Gotham. Maybe it’s the bulbs rattling in the old neon signs blinking around advertisements. Or maybe it’s the sense of promise in the air, something their city hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

There are no grapple guns in this Gotham, no invisible hooks and jumplines to anchor so each cast takes more consideration. Dick revels in it all, the drop, the swing, and the flight. They hit the south side and Dick recognizes more of the structures. From there he coasts through the air with Hood’s breathless laughter in his ear until they reach a familiar brick rooftop.

A neon sign glows to their left with a simple message: Dr. Thompson, M.D.

“I know, I know. It looks too spiffy for this parta town,” Hood says, following Dick’s gaze. “The pharmacy downstairs gave her a good deal on it too. More people in the neighborhood know how to find help now. It’s a good thing.”

“I agree. It’s definitely a good thing.” Dick will say just about anything to get this hoodlum down the stairs at this point. The makeshift bandage he put together is soaked bright red. “Come on. The sooner we get you on the table, the sooner Doc Thompson can stitch you up.”

“I hear you, bluebird.” They manage to make it to the office door before Hood stops them again. “But she might be busy. Other good things need her touch, understand?”

Jason’s voice lifts from behind them. “Park Row needs as many good things as it can get. If Doc Thompson thinks you’re worth the time, you’re worth the time.”

Hood twists in Dick’s arms. “What could you possibly know about Park Row?”

“More than you can imagine.” Jason peels the domino from his face, evoking a startled gasp from Hood.

“What the hell! What the hell! Are you? Is he for real, bluebird? Is this tough guy really me?” He goes pale and limp in Dick’s arms, which isn’t exactly what Dick needed right now. This Jason isn’t as heavily muscled as his, but he’s not exactly light. Dick kicks open the door and, in a burst of strength, lifts Hood in his arms and carries him to the flat surgery table.

“Come on!” He glances over his shoulder. “Please stop antagonizing our friend here.”

Jason laughs darkly. “It shut him up, didn’t it?”

“Jason.” The _fight_ revs up in Dick, it always does with Jason, but a soft hand arrests him. This world’s Jason touches his cheek so gently. Hat gone, mask snatched away, he looks at Dick with such awe, Dick feels himself begin to blush.

“I thought I knew your voice. The way you say my name. Are you . . . ? Bluebird.” He licks his lips. “Do the words ‘Flying Graysons’ mean anything to you?”

Dick slides his fingers around Hood’s wrist to pull his searching fingers away. Somehow, it ends with Hood’s hand clasping his hand. “They mean everything to me,” Dick finds himself whispering helplessly.

Hood looks at him, really looks at him with eyes as warm as Caribbean waters and searches Dick’s face. Whatever he finds makes him sad and he squeezes Dick gently. “Oh darling, didn’t nobody love you like you needed?”

It’s the kind of thing Jason Todd would never say, Dick is unequivocally sure about this fact. And it’s not that Jason doesn’t have the capacity or the charm to put those words together, but he lacks the empathy, the sentimentality. And why wouldn’t he? What has life done to earn that emotion from him?

Yet, Dick is staring in shock at a Jason Todd whose eyes say they know his pain, whose touch says you will not break. Dick ducks his head, feeling the scrutiny from two distinctly different gazes. He opens his mouth ready to speak, but the next words are stolen from him.

“What is going on here?”


	8. Chapter 8

When the door flies open, Jason steps into the pathway ready to work the rising tension out of his body. Because the expression on Dick’s face, the tender sorrow in his smile when he looks at Red Hoodlum, it’s not right. He looks down and finds he is holding a Dick Grayson back with a broad hand on his thin chest.

This version of Dick is shaved a quarter too thin, scrappy even, with big blue eyes, hair perfectly waxed in a tight wave, and a full bottom lip tucked between sharp white teeth. This Dick looks pretty in all the ways Jason insinuates when he lays “pretty boy” at Dick’s feet like as an accusation and a plea, only moreso because he seems to lack that hardened veneer Dick carries.

This Grayson is entirely _wrong_ when compared to his own or even the ones he’s met over the past few hours. Or days. Who even knows how time moves in this messed up escapade.

“Who ae you? You’re not my Jason,” he whispers, shaken as he looks up at Jason, heartbeat thumping in the palm of Jason hand, and Jason struggles to hold back an apology.

“Your guy is on the exam table,” Jason mumbles then moves so this strange copy can rush to the Hood’s side. Jason watches him move and frowns when he sees a slight hitch in his walk instead of that natural Grayson grace.

Hood squeezes Dick’s hand again while he leans against the papery sheets. “Hiya, Grayson,” he says, grin dimmed a shade darker. “I need your assistance.”

The stricken look on his counterpart’s face changes to professional interest so fast Dick feels whiplash. Grayson begins unwinding Hood from his shirt. “What happened to you?”

“Aw, it’s nothing, doc. A little scratch in the middle of saving these two tourists.”

“Tourists, hmm?” Grayson’s eyes flick over to Dick. “And where do they come from?”

“Gotham City,” says Dick. “A little in the future. A lot more sideways.”

Grayson looks up from where he’s cleaning the puckered skin around Hood’s wound. He glances at Dick then Jason with professional concern. “I think I might be examining you all for signs of trauma.”

Dick leans away when his doppelganger glances at him. The expressions on his face, seem honest in a way that suggests no secrets. No double life. It’s surreal to see himself in such a light, no visible mark of the rigorous struggle that vigilante life manages leave. And Dick can’t remember a time when he wore a sweater vest and dickies. He notes the limp and wonders at how old the injury might be.

“That won’t be necessary,” Dick says, frowning. He opens his mouth to comment on bedside manner, but Hood heads him off with a pained grin.

“I never got your callsign, bluebird. What do you go by?”

Dick blinks. “Nightwing. And he’s Red Hood.”

“Nightwing, huh?” Hood gives Grayson a sly grin. “Nice. I got my own Nightingale here. Practically the same thing.”

“I am not your Nightingale,” Grayson huffs. “And we’re not really the same. Are we?”

“Close enough,” Hood says, shrugging, then hissing as he pulls his wound. “Red Hood makes sense though. We’re cut from the same cloth, figures we’d have the same style.”

Jason frowns. “I just want to point out that I’m nothing like you.”

Grayson glances between them both. “None of this seems real to me. How is it even possible?”

Dick tugs at his mask until it peels free exposing his full face to his companions. “It might be difficult to understand, but Jason and I, my Jason.” His gaze flickers over their heads to catch Jason’s eyes. “We’re from another reality. We’re trapped in a magic spell that’s forcing us to meet other versions of ourselves but to what end? I don’t know. So, you see, I am a version of you. I just went the crime fighter route instead of becoming a. . . a doctor.”

“Nurse,” Grayson mutters. “Was working on becoming a veterinarian actually. A natural at care for wild creatures, you know?”

“I do. The circus was very educational. I got to help take care of Zitka,” Dick says, a small grin unfurling.

Grayson looks at him and the pinched look about his eyes relaxes a little, and he almost returns the smile. “I helped her give birth. Well, I was there. It was a lot to take in, but I never looked back. Then the war came.” He says it in the same way a song repeats its refrain, quietly, sadly, like it’s the only notes that fit.

There’s a strong silence that hangs in the air. Jason doesn’t like it, or the glances exchanged between both Dicks. He switches from Dick’s flush to his counterpart’s soulful expression, feeling a little sick in the gut. They’d probably sit in this weird silence forever if he doesn’t do something.

Jason calls. “You about to pass out?” He’s surprised Hood has been quiet for more than a moment.

“Nah. I’m just sitting in the middle of my own blue heaven.” Hood’s eyes dance from Dick to Grayson and back again, glossy with wonder. “I can’t believe it. You’re a knockout, bluebird. An absolute dime just like Dickie here.” He turns to Jason. “And you went to other places where there are _more_ Dick Graysons? Boy oh boy do I envy you.”

Jason’s eyes slide over his Dick, remembering the ones he’s met. He can’t imagine this Hood is done flirting yet, and the idea that his blatant bullshit is working on Dick, his Dick, has Jason seething. “You really shouldn’t, kid.”

“Kid? I’m you!” Hood says, sounding affronted. “Tell ‘em Dickie. There ain’t nothing ‘kid’ about me.”

Dick doesn’t quite stifle his laughter at that comment or the way Jason’s face flies through a spectrum of color and emotion while he decides on being mortified or outraged by his counterpart’s behavior. But Dick understands where Jason is coming from. The past is in no way perfect and should not be romanticized, but there’s a _goodness_ here, an openness in this Jason Todd that he hasn’t seen in so long. He likes it, perhaps more than he should. Definitely more than Grayson likes. Grayson catches Hood’s chin and yanks his head back.

“Stop it, will you. Messing around like that. It’s not good, Jason. It’s why you get into so much trouble.” His gaze softens. “You’re a trouble magnet.”

“Oh yeah?” Hood says, softly. “That why you’re so attracted to me, nightingale?”

Grayson looks away, a pink flush riding high on his cheekbones. “I’m really not.”

Hood reaches up to smooth the hair from Grayson’s cheek with his free hand. “For all your good intentions, we both know you’re made of trouble. Which is perfect for a fella like me.”

Jason clears his throat breaking the moment. The absolute last thing he wants to do is witness another fucking make out session. “I hate to interrupt,” he lies. “But I need some help as well.”

Dick finally turns to look at him. “Are you hurt, little wing?”

There’s a muffled wheezing from the bed where Hood trembles from suppressed laughter. “Little wing?”

Jason sighs, unsure if he should be knocking Dick out or tossing his obnoxious counterpart out the window. Both sounds so appealing. “Nothing to worry yourself over, princess,” he says, lips curling into a sneer. “If the good nurse can point me in the direction of some aspirin, I’ll be fine.”

All eyes turn to Grayson, who is in the middle of putting away his tools. Hood tugs on Grayson’s shirt until Grayson sighs. “I can take him to the pharmacy.”

“Thanks,” Hood mouths, as if Jason isn’t watching. Somehow the guy looks smug even though he’s bandaged across the waist and pale from blood loss. It must be having his arms around two Dicks.

“We have access to the headache powders downstairs,” Grayson says. “That should help.”

“I doubt my currency is going to work here,” Jason says. Grayson glances at him then, a faint smile on his lips.

“Don’t worry about it,” Grayson says. He finishes cleaning away the supplies he used then heads to the door. But when Grayson reaches Jason’s position at the door, he takes a deep breath then scurries by, giving Jason wide-berth despite there being two feet of space between him and the entrance. Jason looks over at Dick ready to at least share this moment, but Dick is wrapped up in a conversation with Hood already, leaving Jason to do what he’s always done: follow Dick Grayson.

The pharmacy is on the building’s ground floor. They enter from a back room into another blast from the past. The glass storefront allows enough light for Jason to see the rows of items with vintage packaging and brands you only see in museums. He doesn’t have enough time to catalog everything. Grayson continues past with his gait hitching every few steps, using a key to unlock the pharmacist’s station. The stockroom is neatly organized. Grayson finds the gritty powder and begins to count out the dosage.

“Why do you need this?” he asks. “You look good to me.” He visibly starts when the words leave his mouth and turns his back to Jason. “I mean, you appear to be in marvelous physical condition.”

“My head,” Jason says simply. “I had a rude arrival in the last universe we visited.”

Grayson looks at him sharply, the first intentional eye contact since they came to the pharmacy. “You talk about it so easily, but I can’t imagine. A whole other universe. Your home must be something special.” He hands Jason a small bottle with a glass stopper. “No more than a teaspoon dissolved in water.” Grayson turns abruptly and walks back to the far wall only to return with a glass of water and a silver spoon. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Jason winces when his fingers tighten around the glass. “Shit.”

Grayson’s eyes sweep over him with that same professional manner as before and he takes the cup back. He removes Jason’s glove with hands so gentle they feel like a caress over Jason’s skin. He frowns sharply once the mix of swelling and lacerations become visible. “What happened to you hand?”

“I dropped into the middle of a turf war instigated by your sweetheart and had to fight my way out, so save all those disapproving looks for him,” Jason says just before Grayson’s fingers lightly probe over his knuckles. It hurts a lot more than simple bruising should. Jason releases a harsh curse when Grayson presses a hair harder, but even that doesn’t hurt as much as seeing this slight Dick Grayson shiver and then flinch away from him, a dark blush curling up his cheeks. Then Grayson curls up into himself becoming a little smaller.

Is it fear that he’s witnessing? Jason’s not sure. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dick afraid of him. Afraid for others when Jason’s around, sure. Afraid _for_ him, Jason will even admit to that when he’s alone. But he’s never seen deliberate fear. He’s suddenly glad for it.

“So, you grew up in the circus,” Jason says, refusing to wince at the inane opening.

“Like your Dick, yes,” Grayson says. “Until I was sixteen.”

“Sixteen?” Jason glances at him considering what that might mean for Dick’s family. “And now you’re a nurse.”

Grayson looks at him from beneath long lashes. “You want to know why. Well, I can hardly join him out there with this leg. The accident.” Grayson clenches the towel in his fist. “Well, the best I can do is ensure his health so Jason comes home to me. Is that a good enough answer for you?”

“I didn’t mean nothing by it, Grayson, I was only curious. Hey,” Jason taps the back of Grayson’s hand spurring a wide-eyed look from him. Grayson’s cheeks darken again and he glances away.

“What is it?” Jason voice is rough with frustration. “Come on. You can tell me why you’re six seconds away from fainting when I look at you.”

Grayson clears his throat, hesitating before he speaks with a voice filled with false calm. “When Jason came back—”

“Came back from where?” Jason asks, voice sharpened by suspicion.

Grayson shrugs. “I don’t know. Kate and Renee, his mothers, they always say it like that. Like he came from some place further than Santa Prisca. I guess I should say, when Jason first arrived in Gotham, he was a lot like you. Angry. Hardened.” His eyes dart up to see how Jason took his words. “A wild child, and oh so dangerous. It frightened me. You frighten me.”

There it is. The words actually said.

Grayson stands abruptly and heads back into the pharmacy aisles. He returns with glass of liniment and a roll of clean bandages. Jason watches him open the bottle. A strong medicinal smell wafts into the air. Grayson tips the bottle into a neatly folded cotton cloth then proceeds to press the cloth against Jason’s knuckles. The touch is dispassionate but also gentle, like Grayson knows no other way, despite his fears, and fuck if Jason doesn’t like the idea of Dick Grayson being truly afraid of him.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Jason says. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Grayson merely shakes his head like he doesn’t believe Jason’s reassurances. And why should he? He doesn’t know Jason. This isn’t a Dick Grayson that Jason has a history with—he hasn’t given him reason to trust him or be afraid. The Dick Grayson upstairs, his Dick, knows him and isn’t afraid of Jason. Not even after Jason has given him all the reasons in the world.

And yet watching Grayson make careful movements and giving him a wide berth fills Jason with an irrational ache of rejection.

“Fine. Then tell me what he did to make you like him? Trust him?”

“He. Jason.” Grayson looks up at him from beneath his long lashes. “He always knew just what to say. And he was never afraid to say it.”

Jason frowns. “I know you don’t know me, but trust me. I’m not one to hold back on my words.”

“No. But with me. Your Nightwing,” Grayson says. “You don’t talk to him at all. I can tell.”

It’s a rather assertive observation for a guy who’d only been in the same room with Jason and Dick for not even twenty minutes. It doesn’t sound true, but it doesn’t feel wrong either. Worse of all, something about Grayson makes Jason want to defend himself.

“I don’t talk because you, the you I know doesn’t listen. Or maybe he just hears what he wants to hear instead of what I’m saying. And I don’t know what he wants from me half the time,” Jason draws in a breath once he realizes his voice is rising. “Sorry.”

“Maybe you’re not being clear,” Grayson says. “You need to figure out what it is you’re trying to say so there’s no room for misinterpretation or misunderstandings.” He glances up at Jason then looks down again when he finds that intense gaze focused on him. “When you go in front of a crowd, you must know every line, every move, every way to reach them. You must know what you’re feeling and give it to them. One-hundred percent every time.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m saying and what I’m feeling,” Jason mutters.

Grayson stares at him for half a breath. The corners of his full lips quirk into a smile. “You’re lying,” he announces. “So, you frighten me and you lie to me. How can I trust you?”

Jesus, Jason thinks. Jesus, this guy knows how to go for the heart. He clears his throat. “Well, I’m not lying when I say that I won’t hurt you.”

Grayson tilts his head granting Jason a look that’s somehow shrewd and shy. “What about him? They’re up there, you know. And Jason is a terrible flirt.”

Jason raises a brow. “Is that what you’re worried about? Look, don’t be. Dick is a boy scout when it comes to these things. And I’m not one to fight for his honor either. “

Grayson looks up at Jason, eyes that same blue that reminds Jason of endless summer and the desire to rise up and touch the sky. “I’m not worried,” he says, primly. “Are you?”

Jason stares at him lips pressed tight together. He doesn’t have an answer.

It’s not until the door closes that Dick feels the tension grow. He stares down at Red Hood and shuffles his feet. Their hands are still clasped together, grip warm, almost tight and Dick can’t bring himself to let go.

“You’re looking a little tired there. Take a load off why don’t you?” Dick feels a hand slide over his hip nudging gently until Dick settles on the edge of the examination table. Hood’s smiles at him. “See, better all ready.”

“Maybe,” Dick says. “You should probably stop with all this.”

“All this?”

“Yeah.” Dick waves his hand lazily and Hood’s broad hand swings along for the ride. “And I should stop letting you be so....”

“So what, bluebird?”

Dick thinks about some words and settles on the easiest ones. “So familiar.”

Hood loosens his fingers. “You don’t want me to hold your hand, then I won’t hold your hand. I’m not trying to cause you trouble. I just know when Dick Grayson needs something.” He grins then, soft as candlelight when Dick doesn’t pull away.

“I need to go home,” Dick says filled with feeling of his first days away from the Haly’s when it was the only place he wanted to be.

“Yeah, I’m sure you do. But it’s more than that.” Hood squeezes his fingers gently. “You’re tired, you’re hurt, you’ve got something on your mind. You need someone to lean on. You can lean on me, bluebird.”

Dick opens his mouth to speak but the words that fly free aren’t what he’s expecting. “Have you ever looked at yourself and realized…. Have you ever seen a side of yourself and realized you were disgusted by it?” In the space between his words and Hood’s, Dick imagines a soft quip, the gentle teasing he’s received that makes him tense and open all at once. Instead, Hood’s face grows serious, grows more like the one Dick’s always wanted to know.

“What happened?” Hood asks the question so easily, no taunts, no anger. It’s never been this simple with Jason, and somehow, Dick finds himself speaking without too much hesitation.

“I just. Met a version of myself. He was making some terrible decisions. We left before I could fix them. Help him,” he scrambles to say, but Hood waves it away.

“You forget, I know someone a lot like you. If you, any you, is out there making bone-headed choices, it usually boils down to doing things so as not to hurt someone you care about. Protecting somebody and all that, am I right?” Jason shrugs. “You usually come to your senses about that pretty quick though. And in the end, you make more right decisions than wrong.”

Dick looks down at their hands. “I hurt a lot of people along the way,” he says, sounding very hollow to his own ears.

“You hurt yourself too, you know. It’s why I know you aren’t being loved right.”

It happens again. Those words that tone and the gentle look in Jason Todd’s eyes and Dick feels his cheeks flush hot. He can’t look away this time. “Please stop saying that,” he whispers.

“Is this like me holding your hand? ‘Cause I gotta say, bluebird, none of those things are gonna hurt you. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He cups Dick’s cheek. The simple touch makes Dick burn brighter.

“I know,” Dick says and his next words surprise even him. “When you say that though, you make it sound like you could do it.” He licks his lips. “Love me right.”

“There’s no doubt about that, bluebird.” He shivers when Hoods fingers slide down to trace his lips.

“And if I want that? Right now?”

Hood’s expression dips to somewhere between sorrow and hope. “I get the feeling this isn’t one of those choices you’d be making for the greater good. And I don’t ever want to be someone Dick Grayson regrets.”

Dick swallows. “You wouldn’t be. You couldn’t. And maybe I want to do something for me.”

Hood says, “Not this. Come’on, what’s this all about.”

Again, the words spill free. “You’re not trying to drive a wedge between us.” Dick remembers the hand Jason placed on Batman’s chest. “He says I push, but you. You’re not trying to pull away. You make things easier.”

“Is that what you’re looking for, bluebird? Something easy?”

“What’s wrong with that? Don’t assume you know what I need. Just because you know someone like me doesn’t mean you know me. You don’t. Not at all. That’s why I want.... That’s why.” Dick’s voice trails away as he remembers the look on his own face when he proclaimed himself an expert on knowing Batman, knowing what he needed. He stands suddenly, pushing himself away from Hood, _Hood_ , not even Jason in his mind because they’re not the same.

Hood reaches for him, but Dick takes a step back. Even that small distance apart seems to allow that cold from before, the one he didn’t realize went missing, to come slinking back inside him.

Suddenly, Hood curses and cups his side pain leaking across his face. Dick grips his arm for him when he sees a fresh red dot expand over his bandages. He just manages to push Hood back against the table and wipe the new sweat from his temple when Grayson comes running through the door a second time replacing Dick with a sweep of his arm.

“Jason! What are you doing? You actually need to stay still in order to heal.” Grayson brushes away Hood’s dark hair then begins checking his wound.

“I can’t sit around when someone needs my help,” Hood says, a small grin on his face.

“Someone?”

“You. I’m never going to let you sit around feeling blue, Dick. No matter where you are or,” Hood’s gaze slides to Dick for a moment, “which one there is. I’m your man, remember?”

A thickness feels the air. An all-encompassing completeness that separates the world into two parts. Grayson and Hood and everyone else. It’s strange to feel the bubble shut down, especially with how Hood had been so, just so different. Even Father Todd seemed less a stranger than this Red Hoodlum, with his sly smile slipping across his face, free to everyone, but especially Dick. To both of them, and Hood’s almost indiscriminate in his charm. But there is a difference between them. This close, Dick can see it now.

“What am I going to do with you?” Grayson asks.

It’s in his eyes, the way they soften every time Grayson speaks. “Whatever you want. I’m yours.”

Grayson’s eyes flicker about the room. “Jason,” he whispers, a note of rebuke in his voice, but it’s smothered by the swift press of Hood’s lips.

The kiss is tender, quiet, something that should break at any moment, Jason thinks hopefully, but Grayson moans softly and it deepens, relief circling through them. And if this Dick ever truly feared his Jason, that feeling is long gone and replaced in full with absolute trust.

Then Grayson’s eyes flutter. He seems to become aware of his surroundings, aware of Dick’s shocked gaze, which he meets with a defiant bat of his dark lashes before dragging Jason closer, kissing him harder until they both moan in gentle, needful harmony. Hood’s eyes blink open, a lazy warmth filling his gaze that is for Grayson alone.

Dick doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jason look like that at anyone, not even in the first universe they passed through with all its dramatic tension and the desperation found in that first rooftop kiss. This Jason looks at Dick Grayson with such adoration in his eyes. This Jason looks at his Dick as if he’s seen the sunrise for the first time. And this Dick looks at Jason with a smile so full of joy. He looks like he’s in love. Dick knows love when he sees it. Dick has been in love before.

When Dick had been a little bit younger and a lot more reckless, he knew so much love. In some ways, this Red Hoodlum reminds Dick of Roy from those days, with his shrewd eyes and easy charm. He reminds Dick of Kori too, something about the laughter and the warmth of his hand, like an inner fire resides, just waiting to ravage the world and leave him wholly changed. How it could make Dick’s hands shake as he climbed out the bedroom window to their smiling faces waiting on the ground below. Kori used to smile at him from across a room and it looked like Hood’s. It looked like, well. Love.

Yes, Dick knew it strongly, deeply, intimately. But he’d never thought that Jason did, if he wanted to, if he could. He wishes he could see his Jason look at someone this way.

A single thought rises from the depths of Dick Grayson’s mind, floating up from the murky instincts to shine bright as a star.

He wishes his Jason could look at him in such a way, just once.

And just like that, Dick feels the walls begin to close in on him. “Excuse me,” he says, standing abruptly. “I need some air.” The door closes behind him leaving Jason to deal with the fallout.

Jason meets their doppelgangers’ glances with a shrug. “He cries at weddings too. Look, we need to get home. Magic is what got is here and it might be what gets us back. You guys know any magic around here, right?”

“Yeah,” Hood says. “Zatanna. She knows everything about everything when it comes to the funny stuff.”

“Perfect. We’re gonna need her help so Dickie and I can get off this crazy train. I’m going to go get him. Uh. Keep it clean in here,” he warns. Grayson manages to look chagrined and offended all at once, and that’s the closest to the Dick Jason knows. He exits and it’s like a weight has lifted from his shoulders. Their presence is like a vortex, sucking Jason in, making him want things he shouldn’t want, feeling things he shut away and that’s dangerous. He’s about to walk away when their voices drift through the door.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Grayson says. “He’s become upset. Both of them.”

“Not upset. Bluebird is as big of a flirt as I am. He doesn’t mind about those things.” Hood says. “And the other guy is me. How could he do anything but love Dick Grayson as much as I do?”

Jason stalks from the door with those words circling his head. Now, he’s back to following Dick so even if they resonate it doesn’t matter. Luckily, he’s practiced at letting those feelings go, and he tries to brush them away as he climbs up the stairwell, because that’s where Dick will go. Up, up, and away.

Dick stands in front of the skyline, arms across his chest. He looks alone. And that’s not Dick. It’s the antithesis of Dick Grayson.

“You alright over there, Dickie?”

Dick doesn’t answer, and Jason feels his cold fire temper swell. “So that’s how it is now? Truce is over,” he says, voice mild. “I have to fawn over you to get you to talk to me?” He’s not jealous, oh no, he’s not. “Come on, _bluebird_ —” 

“Stop,” Dick says. He won’t look at Jason. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“Why not?” Jason pushes. “You let that Jason call you that.”

“That’s not the same,” Dick says.

“’It’s not the same?’” Jason repeats, voice mocking. “Come on, Dickie. How’s it different than any other stupid nickname I’ve given you?”

“He’s not you!” Dick all but shouts.

There’s a silence between them, and Dick looks at him now. Jason’s tense in the face of his shout and Dick doesn’t know how to reconcile this feeling of hot acid in his stomach at having made Jason look that way.

“You said it first, Jason. They’re not us,” Dick says.

Jason stares at him for a moment before nodding. His head feels heavy, his lips a little numb. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I did. They’re not us. None of them are.” His fist clenches then falls open. “That why you like him so much?”

‘ _Unlike me_ ,’ goes unspoken by Jason. It doesn’t need to be, however. Dick trips over his words when he tries to reply, stunned by Jason’s response.

“Jason, that’s not what I meant,” Dick says. “Stop assuming—” Dick cuts himself off. Bites his lip. Watching Jason stand there staring him down makes Dick sad. So, he looks over the railing, mask gripped in his hand, a wobbly frown on his face.

“That’s not what I meant,” Dick says again, softly.

“Look at that. Boy with the golden tongue doesn’t know what to say?”

Jason tries to conceal his temper under the bite of teasing. He wants to sound the way he always does. This push and pull of competitive nature between them is all their relationship is, Jason reminds himself. Despite what Klarion’s magic wants, Jason’s not like any of these other Jasons. Not patiently pursuing Dick, or blatantly courting and having one Dick to his side. Not that he wants such a thing. He’s not even like the first Jason they met, who harbored a torturous love for his Dick Grayson for several years. Jason threw those silly sentiments aside long ago.

And it’s not like Dick is invested in him in quite the same way. They can’t go back to the time before Jason died because they didn’t have much of a relationship then either. Dick was never around then. Never had time to talk even though he promised Jason could call him. Dick was too busy being Nightwing and growing into someone unattainable.

Maybe it would’ve been easier if he’d came back with some actual baggage with Dick like that other guy, Red, with his obvious pain, the tears in his eyes, the way his fingers curled into Nightwing’s back when their lips touched. There had been something between them. There’s nothing between him and Dick. Barely any good memories, hardly any bad despite how entwined their histories. Sometimes Jason thinks that’s all keeping them tied so close together; in the beginning it had trapped Jason alone in the shadow of the Robin he should’ve been but now? They can’t walk without stepping into the other’s spaces.

What’s worse is, Jason knows it’s not Dick—not even most of the time. Because Dick wants things to be better. Dick extends his hand over and over again and Jason’s the one who leaps away. Part of him is still thirteen and in need of more than a one-time team up to feel like part of the family. And a bitter part of him still reminds himself that you won't be disappointed if you don’t stick around. It’s easier to tease and hide behind trivial arguments with Dick than to be honest. It’s easier than saying the words fighting down the length of his tongue for the chance to be let free because they might be wrong.

Right now, though, Jason knows what to say. And it looks like he’s actually going to get the words out this time.

“I’m sorry.” That gets Dick’s attention. Dick turns towards him again, a frown on his face.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” Dick says, grudgingly. Another truce then. Jason’s not going to spoil this one.

“Dick. _Dickie_ , come on. My first apology and that’s all you have to say?” Hand on elbow, Jason slowly reels in Dick. He looks down at his face. A slow smile tugs at his lips. “Look at you.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to take you seriously with this goop on your face.” Jason tries to brush the thin line of glue from around Dick’s temple but Dick steps away, a shadow passing over his face.

Dick begins brushing the remaining glue from his face then sighs. “Sorry. I’m just. Thinking too much.”

“Yeah. Don’t think I didn’t notice all that anger you’re carrying. It’s all here.” Jason spreads his hands like he’s measuring Dick’s shoulders. “Like a cape. Or a badass trench coat.”

Dick doesn’t react to the comparison between him and Batman. He does sway close as if he might lean into Jason’s hands if only they’d make contact.

“I’m still upset about everything we learned about Batman on the last earth,” Dick finally admits. “He had a son, Jason. He had a son in that orphanage and he’s just leaving him there.” Dick tugs his hair. “It’s not right. It’s not right, especially when he has the time to just. Stand around and make eyes at you.”

“Well, we both know that’s not something you’d do.” Jason sighs. “Look, I don’t like seeing these funhouse mirror versions of us either. But, Dick, it’s like I keep on saying, we’re not these people. You wouldn’t do the same thing. It’s not in you. And even if it was, you’d right that wrong as soon as you could.”

“What about the first earth we landed in? What about them? We’re not the same at all, but it was so close, Jay. If I had listened to that voice in my head.” Dick takes a step toward him. “If I trusted myself like that kid did and reached out for you that night on the bank rooftop. Jason.” They’re toe to toe now, chest to chest, and Jason’s heartbeat begins to race.

“If I had reached out to you then, would things be different?” His voice drops to a whisper. “If I reach out to you now?”

Dick tilts his face up.

“If I said you aren’t a lost cause, Jay. You’re not a cause or a symbol or a tool. Not to me.”

And it’s like every warning, every promise, ever resolve slips away from Jason’s mind. He can’t remember them. Doesn’t know why he even made them.

Jason’s hands skate over Dick’s hips not quite touching because this can’t be real. He doesn’t trust this moment, can’t trust Dick, who looks at everyone like they’re special, who looks at Jason like he wants something but isn’t sure what it is or even why.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Jason licks his lips and Dick’s eyes follow the motion. “Not unless you mean it.”

Dick stares at him, mouth parted. It’s like there’s this scene waiting for them to begin but neither knows the lines.

“Do you mean it, Dickie?”

Does Dick mean it?

Dick pushes him away, poised to run. There’s a pop, a static shift in the light and it all goes dark.


	9. Chapter 9

It happens again.

A thin circle of light unfolds above the rooftop, expelling a churning smoke into the night air. Two bodies tumble out, landing feet first, stances low. Dick tilts his head back and stares into the abyss. The distance between himself and the bright sky they just left is immense, but he finds himself reaching towards it, fingers grazing the circle before it belches and implodes in a huff.

With it gone, they’re unshielded from the rain and it falls heavy in Dick’s eyes. It only takes a moment to realize that they’re somewhere new. The knowledge settles cold and heavy in Dick.

Jason watches Dick go still beside him. His nerves scream danger in response to Dick’s outstretched hand slowly falling to his side. It makes Jason tense, waiting for Dick to say or do something.

He should’ve realized Dick was going to run.

Dick takes off like a shot, like he can’t get away fast enough. And Jason follows, urgency making his heart pound in his ears as he tries to keep up. It’s not the fear of being left here—whatever this magic of Klarion’s is building toward, Jason doesn’t think Dick can leave him behind even if he wanted to.

It’s more that Dick might want to at all. It’s the way he thinks he’ll have nightmares about the look on Dick’s face when he pushed him away.

“Damnit,” Jason shouts, pushing himself harder, hoping that he can catch up. The rain has him slipping forward as he runs. But where Jason stumbles, Dick runs seemingly unaffected.

The way Dick leaps from one roof to the next is with agility but none of his usual flair. There are no extra flips to his motions and that fills Jason with even more fear. In this part of Gotham, the buildings are close enough together that they can vault over alleys with ease. It’d take just one misstep on Jason’s part and Dick would lose him altogether.

They run for what feels like ages until they must be running toward Gotham Central with her skyscrapers and penthouse suites - room for the rich to live high enough above the rest of the city that Dick is going to need tech to keep out of reach.

Almost like a guiding point, the neon lit Wayne Enterprises rises above all the rest, shining amongst the rain and fog.

Even with his eyes straining after Dick’s flight, Jason takes in this Gotham City. It’s a desolate place, bleak with its lack of people milling in the streets. There are signs of recovery everywhere. Roadways cordoned off at odd intervals, scaffolding wrapping every other building, wooden boards covering windows in even the most affluent of apartments. It feels different too, in a way that Junior Justice world hadn’t, in a way that even a Gotham City of the distant past didn’t. For all its oddness, those places could have been home. But not this place. Jason can’t imagine what this universe is going to throw at them, only knows that they shouldn’t face it alone.

The Wayne building looms above them as Dick and Jason skid and slide to a stop at the edge of the roof. They appear to be at the end of crammed together, decaying buildings. It’s a ten story drop to the ground below if Dick plans on running still.

“Dick!” Jason yells. He’s out of breath and soaked through but he can’t take his eyes off Dick.

He’s still got his back to Jason, but his shoulders move with the heavy breaths he’s taking. The Nightwing suit can’t hide the way his body tenses and shifts toward a defensive stance. Jason calls his name again, that temper he’s been tamping down on this entire time finally spinning free. The heat of it curls and tears at his throat.

Dick turns around in surprise.

“You can’t just—” Jason can’t find the right words. He stops and tries again. “Do you think running away is going to get us back home?”

Their breath is visible in the air around them. Dick takes a heaving breath, stepping backwards toward the edge, and it’s too much. The way Dick clenches his fist, how his mask is still off so for once Jason can see Dick’s eyes. Without the lenses it’s harder for either of them to play this off, turn it into a game or pretend there aren’t so many things to be said and made right. Dick looks away from him suddenly. He stares into the middle distance, and wipes at one eye with his fingertips. He just wants to go home. He doesn’t want to have this conversation here.

“Jason,” Dick starts to say something.

If there was something profound about to leave Dick’s lips, it’s drowned out by rattling gunfire. They both flinch at the sound, and twist toward it out of habit.

From down the street two armored trucks come careening. They swerve to a stop and a group of machine gun-wielding men spill out of the vehicles towards the Wayne Enterprise building. A few fire their weapon into the air while another shatters the glass of the front windows with a spray of bullets. The great lights searchlights at the foot of the tower turn on, and a mechanical voice calls for a civil exchange. Moments later, the doors of Wayne Tower fly open and ten members of a rival faction pour out in a rain of riot gear, peeling off in a discrete formation. Lastly, a tall man pushes a giant crate down to the rotunda. Weapons, tech, gold-plated chandeliers. It doesn’t matter what’s in the crate, only that these men gained access to the Wayne building, stole tech, and were now selling who knows what on the street, and there’s no one to stop them, not even sirens on the way.

Dick and Jason can only stand watching. Without masks, and without much by way of weapons they’d be flying into a mismatched fight two against twenty.

The urgency that Dick had felt to flee from Jason, the look of distrust on his face when he’d looked in Dick’s eyes, and the sudden need to kiss Jason that had surged through him—it all has to be tabled in the face of the open destruction. Someone fires at the green neon panels running vertically along the building’s face, and Dick clenches his teeth against the feeling of helplessness. He knows with unerring certainty that this Gotham City is without Batman. More importantly, it’s without Bruce Wayne. The two are reflections of each other and without one, the other falls.

And this city resembles nothing more than the aftermath of a great fall.

Jason steps up to his side and shivers run up Dick’s spine at the proximity and heat of Jason’s body so close. As much as he wants to stare straight ahead, Dick turns his head to look at Jason, helpless in this too.

“What’s the plan?” Jason asks, voice low and deadly. He’s unholstered two of his weapons, and holds them aimed down, as if just waiting for Dick’s go-ahead. Except Dick doesn’t have a plan. Unlike the fights they’ve been dropped into before, this one won’t settle easy. The core members of the team, those more discrete, begin to part, slowly edging back toward their vehicles with guns at the ready as if prepared for an attack. And Dick’s mind races for a way to at least tail them, because nothing about this scenario bodes well.

Before anyone can reach the trucks, and before Dick or Jason can come up with a plan of action, the vehicles blow up one by one. They collapse like dominoes in a blast of expanding heat. Smoke swallows the plaza and it rises to where Dick and Jason stand so that they can’t see anything. They’re left with sudden shouting and weapons firing again.

As one unit, Dick and Jason race and leap onto the fire-escape. Their feet clatter on the railings. The sheer chaos in the plaza swallows the noise. One of the trucks explodes a second time, likely set off by leaking oil and a spark as it rolls onto its roof and bellows more smoke and fire. But Dick and Jason keep racing toward the scene. It’s the best opportunity they have to take down the culprits and find out why they’re targeting a Wayne building. Even if this distraction wasn’t for them.

“They’re here!” someone is shouting. And figures emerge from the smoke. Two bodies are already on the ground, several of their weapons have been thrown out of reach.

Closer to the action, Jason marks the two factions. The ones wearing combat suits are mercenaries comprised of men with a mix of naval training and old-fashioned guerilla warfare. The other side Penguin’s men judging by the waistcoats beneath kevlar vests. Jason doesn’t have time to consider the universal nature of Gotham costume fashion or the fact that the mercenaries broke into and out of a Wayne building without issue—although he knows why, he knows Batman is gone—because a gust of wind barrels down from the bay sweeping the heat and oil fumes towards them.

The smoke clears enough to make out someone in familiar black tights and Kevlar. The city lights reflect off blue armoring and it’s without a question who the vigilante springing off the shoulders of one combatant and flipping in mid-air is. Nightwing brings his heels down as he falls, and maybe his opponent thinks they’ve escaped a drop kick. But Nightwing just uses the momentum of landing on his hands to kick both feet, steel soles and all, backward into their sternum, winding them. He flips backwards over their curled forms on the pavement, and turns, fists up around his chin, ready to fight some more.

“It’s Sunday night, fellas,” Nightwing calls, grinning. “Couldn’t save the action for a work night?”

There’s a shout from the group still standing and they rush him.

“Head’s up!” Nightwing shouts. He does a backflip out of the way of the butt end of a machine gun. He moves effortlessly into a crouch, and sweeps one attacker off their feet before rolling away from the swinging fists of another. He laughs, and weaves through the mercenaries with ease.

From across the street another shot is fired into the square. It’s a smoke pellet, and it blows on impact, consuming the square in a thick haze. The standing goons and mercenaries start shouting, but Dick turns to look at where the projectile came from. Under a street lamp is another vigilante in camouflage gear holding a rifle. Whoever they are, they’re built like Bruce, bulk under the same sort of reflective metallic armor that Nightwing wears. Slowly, the man sets the rifle down and tilts his head and the street lamp reflects off the blue mask and Dick can see points on the top of it. Like a version of the Bat cowl. The LED eyes on the mask narrow and the man steps toward the square.

From inside, someone screams, “It’s the Arkham Knight!” but the rallying cry is followed by a panicked shuffle as they realize their numbers continue to dwindle.

There’s laughter. The only thing visible in the plaza is the shadow of Nightwing moving around. He’s taunting the mercenaries, unperturbed by the new element in the plaza.

Nightwing grins. “He’s not the one you should be worried about,” he chides before sending another body to the ground with a swift kick.

One of Nightwing’s escrima sticks flies out from the smoke. Arkham Knight races forward and catches it out of the air. It’s followed by a merc with a machine gun. The Arkham Knight delivers a sidekick to him, knocking him back. He leaps, chasing the merc to the ground, escrima stick swinging at his head.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Nightwing says, walking calmly out from the clearing haze. Arkham Knight’s mask reflects the fires and smoke around them, and the growing grin on Nightwing’s face.

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun,” the other vigilante responds. His voice comes out synthesized through a voice modulator.

“I don’t know if I’d call them fun. But at least they’re putting on a good show,” Nightwing says. “If they’d interrupted our date for something unimportant then I would’ve been really mad.”

There’s a roar from the thick of the plaza, a frustrated yell as a mercenary runs at Nightwing. He has enough time to turn and be caught in a tackle. There’s the flurry of movement as they grapple.

Then the assailant thrusts something under Nightwing’s guard. Just as soon as he makes contact, he stumbles back. The knife is visible now, as he stands frozen in front of Nightwing. Blood slides down the flickering blade to land on the pavement. 

“Fuck,” Nightwing exhales the curse on a breath. Presses a hand to the wound, and almost looks bewildered. Then he breathes in and turns all attention on the merc who seems stunned to have landed his strike. 

Before anyone else can leap in, Nightwing rushes his attacker, and takes him down hard with two blows.

“Was that the last of them?” the knight growls, anger audible though mangled by the mask. He stands over Nightwing and Penguin’s lackey with a gun trained on the unconscious man’s head.

Nightwing nods. “I just didn’t hit this guy hard enough the first time, apparently.”

“I’m going to make sure no one else gets up.” The Arkham Knight moves back into the square. The smoke is all but gone and Dick and Jason can see him check over each mercenary and goon, ripping the masks from them before moving on.

They have a pattern now to Klarion’s magic, so there’s no doubt in Jason’s mind who the Arkham Knight is going to turn out to be. He watches the vigilante kick over unconscious bad guys and zip-tie their wrists and can almost recognize himself under the utility belts and metal armour. The controlled rage in the knight’s every movement he knows all too well.

It’s the level of trust this Nightwing is showing that makes him nervous. Nightwing rolls off from where he’s knelt over the bad guy, and kneels in the street. He seems to take a moment, head tilted back as he breathes deeply, one hand moves to apply pressure to the wound again and he looks vulnerable, injured out in the open in Gotham. Just waiting for the Arkham Knight to finish up.

With everyone secured, the guns confiscated, and a flash-drive retrieved, Arkham Knight abandons the borrowed weapon. He tosses it aside carelessly and moves toward Nightwing. He presses a hand to the mask and with a click the face slides back to reveal the man beneath.

“Are you good to move?” he asks, and his voice is softer than Dick or Jason are expecting. He reaches out a hand to pull Nightwing up.

Nightwing winces, but when he’s on his feet he says, “I’m alright. Still standing,” and smiles. There isn’t an answering smile. But there’s a hand on Nightwing’s elbow, tugging him close gently as the other hand runs over his neck, across his shoulder and down his chest. A gauntlet covered hand presses over Nightwing’s and helps apply pressure on the wound. There’s a soft sound from Nightwing, but he moves toward the touch not away.

“Good,” this Jason says. His eyebrows draw together with concern, and they’re still standing in the middle of a Gotham street as the hand on Nightwing’s elbow lifts. He gently presses his thumb to Nightwing’s lower lip and what he says is inaudible.

“I promise,” Nightwing replies to what Dick and Jason couldn’t hear. His free hand wraps around the back of the Knight’s neck and closes that distance between them so they’re forehead to forehead. The fingers at his lip slip away, knuckles ghosting a line down his chest before settling on Nightwing’s waist. He shivers, and they sway together. It looks like they’re going to kiss, but instead Nightwing says, “Now take me home.”

Jason and Dick try to stay still, afraid to move and be noticed. But that’s not how Klarion’s game plays. As if on its own, glass plating from the face of the Wayne Building breaks and falls to the pavement in a crash. It drops near enough to where Jason and Dick remain crouched that they roll away from the glass, Jason using his body to cover Dick’s without thinking about it.

The soft tableau is broken; Arkham Knight swings his arm around, a gun raised. The mask slides closed over his face and the voice modulator makes him sound nightmare-ish, as he shouts, “Who’s there?”

From his position beneath Jason, Dick watches the strange mask glow with muted blue and white, a sensory relay that leads Arkham Knight to their position in seconds.

“Stand. Both of you.”

They rise slowly, Dick keenly aware of the way Jason’s hands slide down his arms in a quick reassurance. Their eyes meet, and Jason gives him a minute nod before turning hands rising. He places himself in front of Dick, the bulk of his body and the spread of his jacket just enough to hide most of Dick’s form, and Dick thinks, _that’s why_ , when Jason laughs, sounding bold and reckless when he’s anything but. That’s why.

“Look at you,” Jason sneers. “Do we take a minute to talk about color coordination or were you always this patriotic?”

Arkham Knight’s hand flexes around the gun handle as he stares at them, but the gun doesn’t waver. Not when he steps forward, not when it switches hands. “Who are you?” he demands, voice sounds churning even with the modulator.

“Come on,” Jason says, wearily. “You know who we are. The helmet’s got to have told you by now.” He drops his hands and takes a step forward.

“Don’t move.”

Jason stops in his tracks. That order sounded different than the others, harsher. “Okay. I’ll stay here as long as we agree to settle down, put the weapons away, and get on with the explanations, because, frankly I’m tired.” He grins. “And hungry.”

“Stand down,” Arkham Knight says, ignoring Jason. Dick’s not sure if it’s the phrase or that it’s an order, or a combination of the two. Or if it’s the way Arkham Knight’s helmet looks like the cowl, but Jason tenses.

“We both know you’re not Batman, buddy, and I’m not your good soldier,” Jason growls. “This is a negotiation. The terms are simple. You point that away from my partner and I won’t shove it down your throat.”

There’s a hard line in Jason’s voice now and the danger feels more present than it did when the glass fell, when the bullets first started flying. Dick recognizes it and how the vibe travels back to this Arkham Knight version of Jason in a straight line building in its frequency, and Dick doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to be the thing that tips the balance. His eyes dart around the plaza while his mind races for a solution, then he stops, blinking, because something’s different. There’s an empty space beside the man with the gun. His hand opens along Jason’s back, fingers tapping out a warning: _Where is Nightwing_? It’s too little too late. The attack comes before either of them expect.

Nightwing streaks in from their collective blind spot, blocking Jason’s elbow with a sharp rap of his escrima stick. The pistol goes flying in two directions, gun into the smoldering wreckage and the clip towards the withering landscape.

Nightwing moves like lightning, and he knocks Jason aside with a sweeping kick. He only falters for a moment, a minute motion when he takes his first true look at Dick without Jason blocking him. Dick can see that in this universe his mask doesn’t have lenses. Their eyes meet and it’s fury making Nightwing’s eyes narrow as he dives toward Dick. They go down hard on the wet gravel of the asphalt and immediately start to grapple with one another. It's a quick messy affair with each rolling atop the other only to have an improbable leg hook and jerk of their hips to keep the other from gaining momentum.

“Why are you wearing that suit?” Nightwing demands as he gets a right hook in before Dick can lock his arms down. They’re too evenly matched, but Nightwing has the advantage of his armor. It’s heavy and throws enough momentum into each blow that simply blocking punches hurts Dick.

“We’d explain,” Dick starts to say, but loses his breath from a knee to his gut. He grunts, knocking the knee aside before it can connect again.

“If you’d stop!” Dick manages to yell as he’s flipped onto his back. It’s a cheap shot, Dick knows even before he makes it. But he’s frustrated and unsure where that Arkham version of Jason is pointing his weapon now. He needs a minute, just a moment to explain, Dick thinks. And he needs this Nightwing to stop attacking him to get it.

He slams the palm of his hand just below Nightwing’s ribs, aiming for where Nightwing was stabbed earlier. Nightwing moves with it, but can’t twist fully out of the way of the blow. Dick makes contact, and Nightwing rolls off him with a pained gasp.

There’s the ominous click of a hammer being cocked. When Dick looks up, the Arkham Knight is standing over him, gun trained over his heart. The sound though, came from Jason who is standing with his gun trained on the Arkham Knight.

Dick lays panting on the street, soaked from running in the rain earlier and from sweat. And he can’t quite imagine that after everything they’ve been through, all of the time displacements, that it’s going to end with someone else’s Jason killing him. The Arkham Knight tilts his head, takes him in, and Dick feels keenly vulnerable without his mask.

“Dick?”

His name is mangled by the electronic voice; Dick closes his eyes against it.

But he replies, “Yes. I’m Dick. I’m Dick Grayson,” voice breathless and more than a little desperate.

“Now that we’ve cleared that up, again,” Jason growls. “Want to aim your weapon somewhere else?”

There’s a beat, and no one says anything. Dick squeezes his eyes shut, and tries not to make a sound. The road is harsh against his back and his body aches from all the hits he took. The impact of Nightwing’s blows on his body and the metaphysical blows from Klarion’s magic weighing on him emotionally. All he wants to do is scream with frustration and the helplessness of it all. But more than any of that, Dick wants to go home. He’s exhausted to his bones.

Suddenly, there’s a touch at his shoulder and Dick’s eyes fly open. He grabs for the hand, and grasps tightly, mind whirling with alarm as he thinks for a moment that he’s about to be attacked again. It takes a moment to focus and swim back up from his thoughts and see soft sea green eyes staring at him in concern. Jason’s gaze shifts, dancing across Dick’s face in an assessing way. Heat spreads through Dick’s chest and his throat is tight with relief just looking at Jason.

Then guilt chokes Dick, dampening the warmth of seeing Jason as immediately as it came. Because here’s Jason, carefully pulling him to his feet and pressing cold knuckles against the swelling bruise on Dick’s cheek, and Dick had been running away from him.

Jason’s leather coat brushes Dick’s arm, and Dick knows without a doubt that if he asked for it, if he told Jason he was cold, then Jason would give it to him.

“Earth to Dickie,” Jason calls to him. And oh, Dick wonders, when did his eyes close again? He opens them, blinking in surprise as Jason asks, “Are you okay?”

Dick pulls back, hand reaching up reflexively to push Jason’s gentle touch away. And Jason’s hand falls away with more force than Dick thinks he used. Jason opens his mouth, closes it and then steps back out of Dick’s space. But Dick can still feel his fingers against his skin, a phantom feeling against his quickly flushing cheeks.

The whole reaction is embarrassing. He tries to rectify it, flashing Jason a smile that feels all wrong on his face as he says, “I’m good. Just caught me by surprise, that’s all.”

Jason doesn’t reply, just gives a quick nod. Dick can’t look at him. The guilt feels like acid in his stomach and makes him ache. It’s easier to turn his attention to their doppelgangers.

Nightwing and the knight are holding each other up. Nightwing’s head pressed close to that helmet so his breath fogs against the side of it as he pants. The thrust of the blade must have been worse than he led them to believe. His fingers grasped around pieces of the metal armor on the knight, but his eyes are clear and focused on Dick. There’s no doubt that he watched the whole interaction and is mentally cataloging it for examination later. It’s what Dick would do.

Distantly there’s the sound of helicopters and sirens. Too much time has passed for the GCPD to be coming about the break in.

“We have to leave,” Nightwing says. His tone leaves no ambiguity. He means all of them need to clear the area.

Dick doesn’t know if he looks hesitant or if this Nightwing just doesn’t trust him, but Nightwing sees something in him. It makes Nightwing force better posture. He tries to pull enough away from the knight to look commanding when he adds, “I don’t know where you’re from, but it’s not a good idea to be a cape in Gotham these days.”

But Arkham Knight’s arms are unshakably locked around Nightwing, keeping him close. He holds Nightwing steady when he presses a hand against the bleeding wound.

“Are you offering us somewhere to run to?” Jason asks from behind Dick.

“Begrudgingly,” Arkham Knight replies. “Try to keep up.”


	10. Chapter 10

With its open floor plan and unfinished walls, the safe house seems less ‘lovers under threat of discovery’ and more ‘we went for the fixer-upper’. The entire building looks abandoned, as if the money dried up mid-project and a hollow shell remained just waiting for the right couple. The security is tight though, efficient and ruthlessly trapped for the unexpected visitor. Jason is ready to lend his professional opinion, but he imagines it would go over like any of the other small talk attempted between them, which is to say not well if at all.

Masks get tossed aside once they’re in the safe house. While Dick and Jason are taking in the decor, their doppelgangers start to strip from their uniforms, as if Dick and Jason aren’t even there. With the masks off it’s hard to still think of them as Nightwing and Arkham Knight.

Dick watches them move, the almost practiced way they swing in and out of each other’s orbits close, close, close but never crashing. He clears his throat twice before gaining their attention. “I was thinking of a way to alleviate confusion. Dick and Jason.” He points to himself and Jason then at their mirror images, a mirror darkened only slightly. “Grayson and Todd.”

Grayson stares at him, eyes hard, for a long moment before shrugging. “Sure. Whatever.” He glances at Jason. “He always this bossy?”

Jason crosses his arms and levels a glare from over Dick’s shoulder. “Lifetime of leadership will do that to you,” he says mildly.

Grayson’s stripped out of the armor layer of his suit, leaving shoulder pads and frames on the kitchen table. He starts to peel down the underlayers of the suit to reveal bare skin. And a short incision and a smear of dried blood. He winces when he stretches.

“Who did Batman let you lead?” Grayson asks Dick. “Are there some other heroes kicking around Gotham I should be worried about? Because we’ve got enough on our plate without having to teach some new kids.”

Todd is quiet at the kitchen counter where he stripped his gloves and gauntlets. They’ve been set on the counter in some ritual order beside the helmet, followed by the outer armor. He keeps his back to the conversation, and drags shaky fingers through helmet hair. His quiet and stillness must be out of their usual routine because Grayson turns toward it.

“I’m okay, Jay,” Grayson says, as if he doesn’t have his fingers pressing and assessing the wound as he speaks.

“You were stabbed,” Todd snaps back. He goes through the cupboard with careful motions that Jason knows intimately. It’s how he acts when he’s trying to refrain from slamming and breaking the objects around him.

“Jay,” Grayson says softly. The cupboard slams shut but Grayson doesn’t flinch. He waits, hand pressed now over his wound. “Jay, come here.”

There’s a moment that hangs in waiting while Todd leans against the counter, bare chest and back expanding with the heavy, even breaths he’s taking like he’s counting them.

Then he finally turns around. There’s a wetness to his eyes, a splotchy redness to his pale cheeks. It’s when he wipes a hand across his eye and cheek, angrily swiping at tears that Jason notices the “J” branded onto Todd’s cheek. Suddenly there’s not enough air in the room.

Todd’s voice is so young and angry when he asks, “You promise you’re okay?”

“Jason.” Grayson reaches his free hand out, pleads with the gesture of stretching his fingers toward him. And Todd moves. Grasps at Grayson’s hair, drags his head back in a way that should hurt. But Grayson wraps that arm around Todd’s back, spreads his fingers across bare shoulders and holds on. He lets Todd pull at his hair until his throat is bare and he’s feeling the pull.

“I’m okay,” Grayson is whispering back. “We’re okay. We’re home.”

“We’re home,” Todd grunts back. His fingers stop tugging and clinging and soften. He combs them apologetically through Grayson’s short hair. “You found me,” he says almost inaudibly against Grayson’s skin.

“I didn’t stop looking,” Grayson says, and it sounds more like a promise than a statement. “We found each other.”

The brand and all of Todd’s face gets hidden behind Grayson’s cheek as they hold on. And Jason can breathe again. He inhales raggedly and takes a blind step backwards, instinctively searching for a way out. Now.

“I’m going for a smoke,” he manages to get out before he bolts for the door. Afraid if he doesn’t get out now, that he’ll be frozen again, stuck in a moment where he watches himself shatter and for the first time, see someone at his side.

Dick has nowhere to go. He waits out the phrases these versions of them mumble to each other like mantras until they seem to settle.

Todd moves slowly, like he’s embarrassed and gathers the first aid kit and finally gets to work on cleaning Grayson up. Dick doesn’t know this Jason’s history. He can’t read if Talia played any role here in making sure this Jason was trained. But in all other ways it’s so familiar. The careful control from strict training conflicting with unchecked, bottled emotion. Looking at Todd, his bulk and how he moves with careful precise motions like Kate used to in her early days as Batwoman—newly adjusting to the difference between military regs and finding her own way in the suit. Newly returned to the city that forgot her and vibrating with so much anger.

Dick recognizes it all in Todd and wonders how he didn’t realize it was Jason on that roof in Bludhaven all those years ago. All he’d seen was a kid in a mask, just one more run-off from Gotham spilling down to his city. Just another missed moment.

For a split second, Dick thinks about the towering anger he felt before Klarion’s magic swept them away from the church. He’d missed his moment then too. He’d watched that Jason believe heart and soul in Batman’s reasoning as if it was certain. It’d been plain to see that Father Todd was building a foundation on him, and had put that Batman on a pedestal. And Dick hadn’t explained the unreachable nature of it clearly. That’s what Dick had been trying to tell Jason this whole time. That Dick isn’t perfect, not unreachable. He’s trying just as hard. Failing just the same. The thought gets convoluted in his head. Dick leaves it for now, unsure where his thoughts are trying to lead him.

“The bleeding is slowing,” Todd is saying, fingers light around Grayson’s wounded side. The skin is flushed an angry red at the opening and pale around it. “You need stitches.”

Grayson sighs. “Is it too late for a second opinion?”

“Yes.” Todd turns away and begins searching for tools.

“Damn, Nurse Todd. No room for negotiation?”

Todd pulls a thinly hooked needled from the aid kit and unspools a line of thread. He gives Grayson a hard look. “No. No more negotiations tonight.”

“But I don’t need stitches.”

“You don’t like stitches,” Todd says. “Not the same thing.”

“It is from where I’m sitting,” Grayson mumbles. He sucks in a gasp when the needle pricks his skin and his belly caves inwards. Todd pauses.

“Take shallow breaths and you’ll barely feel a thing.”

“What are ‘things you said to me on prom night’?” Grayson asks, smile straining only slightly.

Todd’s hands stop. He looks up studying Grayson’s intently. “You’re trying to distract me,” he accuses.

“I’m trying to be a good patient,” Grayson corrects. “Earn my reward.”

“This will only take five minutes if you let me work, D.”

“I’ve heard that one before. Ouch.” Grayson hisses. He flattens his palm over his nipple and gives Todd a wounded look. Todd stares right back, unapologetic. “Now who’s distracting who?”

“Whom,” Todd says, a thin smile on his lips. “And look who’s almost finished.”

Grayson goes silent, and if Dick didn’t know any better, he’d say Grayson is pouting. Then his fingers drift up over his chest. “You’re gonna pay for that, you know,” he says, the promise in his voice is recognizable and Dick shifts in his seat.

Todd looks up then immediately down again, the tips of his ears glowing a bright red. “I thought you wanted a reward,” he mumbles and Grayson’s smile lights up the room.

“Why Nurse Todd, I do believe you are flirting with me.”

Grayson leans forward as he speaks, easing himself toward Todd despite the new stitches. He presses a hand over Todd’s on his skin, helping apply pressure to the wound just so he can make this gesture. It’s like they’re magnetized though, and Dick remembers how they were when they first entered the safehouse. How they spun around each other, nearly touching but missing at every turn of an elbow, every shift of positions. It was almost a choreographed dance, and now they're doing it again.

Todd and Grayson’s fingers intertwine and conceal the fresh red of his wound. And Todd doesn’t protest Grayson’s movements like Dick expected him to. No, Todd is licking his lips, eyes locked on Grayson’s as he asks, “What if I am? What are you going to do about it?””

Grayson reaches out with his free hand. Knuckles trail gently across Todd’s jaw. Grayson’s thumb runs a soothing line over Todd’s cheek, brushing the curve of the J in Todd’s cheek. Todd shivers visibly. And Grayson closes the distance between them. The reply is a kiss.

The kiss is heated, pressing and pulling, and Dick can’t help but compare it to the kiss in the Junior Justice universe. There’s something desperate to these versions of Jason and him that forces Dick to remember how Red and Nightwing had kept telling each other they were alive. As much as Dick wants to look away he can’t. He bites his lip as he watches Grayson press his whole palm to the J brand emblazoned on Todd’s cheek. His touch pushes as it moves across Todd’s skin to tangle in Todd’s hair; it moves Todd’s face into a new angle, and the kiss must deepen because Todd makes a soft sound like a keening.

The need for breath parts their lips and Grayson answers with a surprised gasp. And smiles so brightly at Todd.

He presses back into the kiss with a hum, and it sounds like encouragement as he tries to move to stand and get them even closer.

Fingers grasp at muscle; Grayson holds onto Todd by his arm as he arches as much as his body will allow and opens his mouth against Todd’s. His fingers leave red marks as they grip and slide across skin. It takes a moment for Dick to realize why Grayson seems to scramble and pull and arch as if there’s something holding him back now. As if he’s fighting something keeping him apart from Todd.

Dick almost doesn’t notice Todd’s hands gripped on Grayson’s hips—the only thing probably keeping Grayson in the chair. The fingers press and hold Grayson in place until Todd is standing over him. He presses gentle kisses to Grayson’s lips. Eases them out of the kiss.

Finally, Todd slides his hand down Grayson’s chest. “Come to bed when you’re ready,” Todd mumbles before slipping away to the hallway shadows leaving Grayson arched in his chair, lower lip caught between his teeth.

In the distance, a door closes, and the strange vignette comes to an end. Grayson drops into his seat with a sigh and the soft smile lingering on his lips disappears. He rubs his hand down his face then through his hair then adjusts himself. When he looks up, his gaze finds Dick’s with unerring quickness, and Dick knows at least one of them was aware of his presence the entire time.

“Are you going to stand there and creep at us all night or what?" Grayson mutters. “Because it’s really ruining the moment.”

Dick eyes Grayson for a long moment before snorting.

“What?” Grayson asks.

“Like you’re in any condition for a special ‘moment’ with your. Jason.” Dick chokes out unable to label them as anything else. He pushes past his own awkwardness, pointing at his counterpart. “Your forearm is tense, you have your left hand white-knuckled on the chair arm. And you’re balancing your feet in a way to reduce strain on your knee joints. So, go ahead and ask me to help you out that chair or call lover boy back out to carry you. But don’t play games with me. I’m not in the mood.”

“I’ve worked through worse,” Grayson says. He doesn’t say that Dick doesn’t know him, but it’s implied.

“Yeah, yeah, tough guy.” Dick grabs the strip of bandage cloth and tosses it into the air. He bounces it off the back of his hand and the end starts unraveling giving him plenty of room to work. He catches the fabric with both hands and starts winding it around his body. His double’s body. His alternate and somehow more buff body. “Damn. You probably have 20 pounds of muscle on me. Who do you have to be so strong for, huh?”

Grayson stiffens at the bandages pulling tight around his wound. “You know who,” he says. “The city. His legacy.” Grayson’s eyes close for a moment. “Jason.” The way he says the name, filling it with compassion, conviction, it makes Dick swallow nervously. His legacy. He doesn't even want to think about the implications there. Instead, Dick focuses on the one topic they to which they can relate.

“I’ve never known Jason to need anyone.”

The anger in his own face is like a hand on Dick’s throat. “Then you’ve never really known Jason Todd.”

Dick bites his tongue against a snapping remark. Because it’s not as if this Grayson is wrong; hasn’t that been part of the big cosmic lesson that Klarion’s magic has doled out? He doesn’t know Jason. Hell, he doesn’t even know himself. He pins the bandages then places his hand on Grayson’s lower back, touching himself, the soft skin, the tinge of sweat on his fingertips. It feels bizarre.

“Maybe you’re right,” Dick says. “But I’m trying.”

“Really? I saw the way you rejected him back there.”

It’s telling that Dick knows the exact moment Grayson mentions. He can still feel the chill of Jason’s knuckles against his cheek, the fierce light shining in his eyes. He shivers all over again and moves away.

Grayson looks up at him as Dick stands. Dick can’t imagine what there is to see on his face. He’s a little bruised from altercations with alternate selves, and he can feel the exhaustion weighing around his eyes, building into a headache.

“I don’t know what you two went through.” Dick keeps his voice low as he tries to explain. He doesn’t know how much he should give away, but it seems important to get this off his chest. He’d gotten close with Hood, back in Gotham’s past when everything seemed so much easier. But being stared down by his own eyes when he talks about Jason is so much harder.

“Everything’s different where we’re from. Gotham isn’t like this. It’s a struggle to keep it from falling apart—that’s the same. It still needs Batman.”

Grayson watches him, giving nothing away this time at the mention of Batman.

“But,” Dick continues. “Jason and I.” Dick stops. How does he explain how angry he was at Bruce, and how it had always been on a low boil in those days? Does this Grayson know? How it had felt to see another kid in his uniform like it was nothing to find a replacement?

Dick thinks about how Grayson had reached out for Todd, and suspects there’s no sympathy to be found here.

“Safe to guess that the two of you don’t spend any extra-curricular time together,” Grayson interrupts, feeding him thread.

Dick chuckles, surprised at the offer. “You could say that.”

It’s on the tip of Dick’s tongue to give voice to the one thing that keeps his eyes locked on this world’s Jason and Dick, how at ease and easy they are with each other. He wants to ask why that is, how they got there, but Dick gets the feeling such a question would burn the truce between them. Grayson wouldn’t respond well to something so inane. It’s in the way he holds himself, the look in his eyes. Hell, it’s even in the stark lines of the apartment, which is barely furnished. Only the couch and a lamp sit in the living room, and from here, the kitchen looks barebones as well, lacking even the chrome reflection of a toaster or coffee machine on the counter.

This place is a blank slate and so is the man in front of him, and that’s why Dick knows Grayson’s not going to give him anymore threads to form a conversation.

Dick sighs. He tries to keep being honest. “And you’re probably right. I don’t know Jason. I thought I did before all of this. But now I’m not so sure.”

For a beat all there is to be had is the silence of the apartment. Grayson just watches him and Dick itches under the scrutiny.

“We should save this for the morning,” Grayson says, finally. “We’re both exhausted, and I have someone waiting up for me.”

Dick startles at the out. He didn’t expect Grayson to shut the conversation down so suddenly.

When Grayson reaches out to him, he hauls Grayson to his feet with a grunt.

“Come on,” Grayson says. He holds Dick’s arm. “I’ll help you break out the sofa bed. You can sleep here.”

They move together silently tossing pillows to the floor in the same haphazard fashion. Dick doesn’t even protest Grayson bending to pull the metal bars up and out because he knows that the only way to push past the frustration of the body not responding like it’s supposed to, not doing what it’s meant to, is to keep pushing until it does.

They work in companionable silence and all too quickly the bed is set up. Spare pillows and fresh sheets are pulled out of a surprisingly organized closet. Or not so surprisingly if Dick considers the way Todd dismantled himself or the sparse order found in Jason’s safe houses. The sheets are soft and blue; Dick runs his fingers along them, admiring Grayson’s quick work of hospital corners. He almost doesn’t catch Grayson leaving the room without a farewell.

“Wait.” Dick moves toward him. “Just wait. Before you go. You say I’ve never really known Jason Todd. Maybe it’s true. We didn’t start out the best of friends and when he came back things were hard.” So hard to see past the pain Jason inflicted on the family, to know it was self-righteous and born of their failures, his and Bruce’s. “The man he is now. Before this, I never would have thought the things I saw in him. He’s so conflicted. He hates me but he doesn’t hate me. He trusts me but he doesn’t trust me. Jason wears so many masks.”

“Not with me.”

Dick grits his teeth, frustrated by that conviction in Grayson’s voice. He’s so sure of his Jason Todd.

“How do I know what I’m seeing is real? How do I know if… if Jason cares?”

“You ask him. And then you believe him.” Grayson walks away then, body tight with a new tension. He pauses at the hallway entrance and his hand curls along the wall, but he doesn’t look back. And then he disappears into the shadows.

There are clothes in the bathroom, two pair of briefs and two tees, and Dick stares at them—knowing it was Todd but unsure how he knew. He showers and changes and feels both better and worse. He sinks onto the mattress which barely moves under his weight and listens to the silence.

For the first time since they’ve started this wild universe hop, Dick’s alone. He doesn’t coil his hands through the thoughts circling his head, doesn’t feed on them, doesn’t even think about them. Instead, Dick lies down, straight as a line, and waits until he isn’t anymore. Alone.

Jason comes back in the middle of the night. He hesitates but joins Dick on the sofa bed. He thumps the pillow twice before flipping onto his back settling with a soft groan. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

One day, Dick’s going to ask how Jason always knows when he’s awake. He opens his eyes, blinking until the soft blurs dissolve into shapes. The ceiling, the light fixtures. He sees Jason’s chest rise and fall out of his peripheral vision. “I don’t want to dream tonight.”

“No shit,” Jason says. He curses again softly. The sound is pained, wet.

“Are you okay?” Dick asks, voice as quiet as he can make it in the dark. He can smell cigarettes from his side of the bed.

“You got that gauntlet with you?” Jason asks, ignoring the question.

Dick rolls to where his suit lays piled on the ground. He tosses it onto the bed. “Here. Why.”

Jason sits up enough to tug the gauntlet into the weak light. “We’ve been running for hours, but it’s quiet now. We’ve got satellites and fucking wifi again. Think you can make a call?”

“It shouldn’t be that hard,” Dick says in reply. The gauntlet's light screen responds to his touch illuminating the living room. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot actually.”

“You had the time for that?”

Dick grants him a humorless smile. “Multitasking, Jay.”

“But it’s magic we’re dealing with and you’re not magic. Can you make this work?”

“I think so,” Dick says carefully. “Magic may exist in a form that defies all of our scientific norms, but it doesn’t mean we can’t use science to understand and interact with it. The creodine signature is what I’ll use to orient our signal’s broadcast. Once we have that, we can send a test message. I started on a burst data packet when I had a minute. Something to alert people we can trust. Well, ones I trust.”

Jason shrugs too weary to be impressed. “You ready?”

“Yeah. Sending the burst in five, four, three.” The gauntlet pings twice in a series of increasingly dulcet notes followed by silence. They wait together five minutes becoming ten, twenty, until Jason can’t hold it in anymore.

“I should’ve known that this wouldn’t—” He’s interrupted by a static whine and a voice.

“...ng. Robin to Nightwing…. Can you—me—’wing.”

“We can read you, Robin.” The relief of hearing Tim’s voice sweeps through him. “Hood and I are together and ready to get home.”

“Aven, aven, aven. Raven after Klarion….Wing…..” Tim’s voice stutters like an old record and the elation Dick felt at hearing his brother’s voice ebbs quickly.

“Robin, if you can hear me. This frequency, the one I sent you, aligns with the magic in Klarion’s dimensional rift. If you can use it, you can track where his portals open.” He breaks off and listens. He repeats his message a second time. Seconds later, Tim’s voice returns.

“Nnnnightwing, wing, wing, and Hoood.” Tim’s voice skips again. “Sick totototo gether.” It’s the last words Tim says to them before the transmission stops.

Jason falls back into the pillows with a curse.

“It’s alright, Jay. We can try again.”

“Don’t you get sick of that schtick? Because I am.”

Dick sets the gauntlet back down before facing Jason. “Seriously, Jay. Are you alright?”

Jason shifts, so does the mattress. Maybe it’s the safety of the dark that allows him to be honest. “No. I fucking hate this, Dick. You get to be the hero everywhere we go. You’re still golden. But every version of me echoes all the shit the Joker put me through. I—”

Jason stops just as quickly as he started. Unwinds. “I want to go home.” He rolls over, conversation over.

Jason wakes up on a strange couch facing a kitchen he doesn’t recognize with a warm body pressed to his back.

There are people in the kitchen, two figures up against the counters he realizes once his eyes have adjusted to the dim gray light breaking in through the windows. It surrounds them like a shroud, quiet and intimate. Jason's fingers curl against the fabric of the futon, feeling like a voyeur as he watches another Jason lean in close to kiss a Dick Grayson so unlike the one feigning sleep beside him.

When they part, this new Jason leans in and presses their foreheads together.

In a low pitch, Todd asks, "We didn't pull your stitches, did we?" His hands slips low on Grayson's arm and out of Jason's view.

"I think I've learned better," Grayson is saying, breathing coming harsher as Todd tucks his face low, lips against his throat, "than to lie to you about my health."

When he grins at Todd, Jason aches, knowing that look will never be his. What would it take to get Dick looking at him like that and mean it? He doesn’t like the hunger in that thought, the way his fingers curl with the urge to reach out and take it for himself.

As if thinking about him called to his attention, Grayson turns and catches Jason watching. The heat drains out of him immediately. Carefully, he brushes his fingers through the short hair at the nape of Todd’s neck, then tugs. It’s gentle, but it gets Todd’s attention in a way that makes Jason wonder if there’s not a deeper, unspoken language to it. Todd stills, lets the fingers in his hair press and hold him in the safety of Grayson’s throat.

Grayson shifts and uses his hands and face, Jason realizes, to shield Todd’s face. But more importantly, it hides the brand from Jason’s sight. The tight feeling in his chest loosens just a bit, and it feels like maybe Jason can get through this early morning if he doesn’t have the trauma of this world sprung upon him.

“Hey, how did you sleep?” Grayson asks. He sounds like he means it. But his gaze is hard, assessing he looks Jason over. Nothing like the mirth he’d had during the fight the night before. And Jason thinks about the flipped switch, how this Dick is more guarded. Even though he’s combing Todd’s hair with his fingers, Grayson’s muscles have gone tense. He’s shifted from the lazy, draping hold on Todd’s body that Jason stole a glimpse of to something protective. Like he’s afraid of Jason and Dick.

“Good,” Jason says. The word gets caught in his throat and hurts to admit. Beside him, Dick is trying harder to feign sleep, but his fingers are holding on too tight to the pillow. Because he can't stop thinking about how this Dick didn't give up.

“Get over here then. You said something about food last night.” Grayson nods towards the refrigerator. “Knock yourself out.”

Jason finds himself climbing out of bed on the invitation alone and saunters into the kitchen in is briefs, unwilling to be intimidated by the overwhelming intimacy displayed so casually before him. He nods at them to prove he’s completely whelmed.

Jason opens the fridge, scanning the meager contents while his hosts scan him. It’s flattering in a way that both Grayson and Todd are wary of him while he’s barefoot and wearing boxers, but he gets it. The milk is fresh, the egg carton full, and the onions and spinach are barely wilted. And there’s a hunk of cheese.

He stacks the ingredients on the counter. “You guys want omelettes?”

Grayson’s mouth drops open like he’s about to say something then changes his mind mid-thought. “Sure, Jason. Thanks.”

There’s plenty of space for Jason to move but the kitchen seems overly crowded with Grayson propped on the counter and Todd between his legs, cheek pressed against his shoulder. They watch him curiously with soft murmurs every now and then. Jason’s finished chopping veggies and reaches for the cheese when he notices the shift beside him. Todd tilts his head back placing his lips to Grayson’s ear and whispers again. Jason can’t take it anymore.

“What is it?” he asks.

Grayson glances down at Todd who nods. “You hold the knife like Alfred.”

Jason can feel a faint grin on his lips. “Well, yeah. I trained under a lot of masters. Alfie was the first.” p>

Grayson arcs a brow. “You’ve been holding out on me, Jay?” And finally, the other half of the two-headed beast, as Jason has come to think of them, address him.

“No,” says Todd. “Never learned. Always wanted to though.”

“Are we sure you’re the same person?” Grayson asks, but there’s no rancor in his voice, in fact he sounds curious.

“We’re reasonably sure,” Jason says. “The blood test matched in the first universe we arrived in at least. And we look pretty much the same.” He looks at what he can see of Todd, tangled up as he is in Grayson. Then Jason shrugs, directing it to Grayson when he says, “Give or take a few rounds on the row machine.”

Omelettes are easy, even with prep time, and Jason quickly plates the first with a deft flick of his wrist. He hands it to Grayson, meeting his surprised look with a grin, and he doesn’t care how smug it is.

“Looks good,” Grayson says.

“Tastes better,” Jason replies, going to crack another egg. He catches movement out the corner of his eye. Todd turns until his back is pressed to Grayson’s chest. He’s holding the fork, takes the first bite, leaning over the plate in Grayson’s hand. Todd makes a pleased sound and tips his head back, whispering against Grayson’s ear.

“Really?” Grayson leans forward mouth open for his own bite. His reaction is a little more explosive, a moan, an audible swallow. “Damn. Another bite, Jay. It _is_ good.” He takes a second bite. “We’ll take another, please,” he says with a wink.

“Sure.” Jason doesn’t quite mind suffering the indignity of witnessing himself feed Dick Grayson for that.

“Besides Alfred, who else tutored your culinary skills?” Todd asks softly from Grayson’s arms. He doesn’t look up from scooping more eggs on his fork, but Jason doesn’t mind.

"No one else took as much time making sure I could beat an egg so much as if I could hit a target,” Jason says with a shrug. "But after Talia, and I was on my own again, I learned to apply what Alfred taught me about breakfast to the rest of the day.”

When he says, “Living on ramen wasn't really an option I wanted to endure again," he almost wishes that Dick was in here to tease about his terrible dietary habits. He pours the next omelette onto the pan and focuses on cooking, putting Dick on the metaphorical backburner.

“Well, if he’s really you,” Grayson says, setting the fork and plate pointedly in Jason’s reach. He eyes the other omlette as he speaks. “I’d say we need to let you loose in the kitchen sometime. See what you can do.”

Jason wouldn't call it amusement, the tone in this Todd’s voice when he says, "If he's really me, it sounds like there's a place where Joker doesn't get me."

For a serious moment, Jason considers not saying anything to the contrary, not wanting to pop that bubble of hope. Looking at this quieter version of himself living and breathing, encompassed entirely in love from Dick Grayson, it seems kinder to let him believe. But Jason remembers the loneliness those first few years after Talia brought him back. He can only wonder how this Jason came back and if he’d felt as wrong as Jason had. Those first few months Jason had almost begged Talia to put him back in the ground. And he wouldn’t wish that feeling on nearly anyone.

Remembering those feelings, and knowing how dark this Gotham is—Jason makes the choice between letting a version of himself believe they lived and knowing they weren’t alone in it.

Jason says, "We always die, as far as I can tell. Seems to be one of the few universal things all of us share. Well, that and we always come back."

Grayson goes still. It’s unexpected to see him deflate around Todd. Jason had expected a quip, or a reaction from Todd. He hadn’t known what the comment would be, but he remembers how it’s gone so far. Screaming, flinching, and a passive shrug from Hoodlum. Jason had worked through those reactions over the years - the ability to feign indifference when his death was brought up had been a skill honed over time. He anticipated Todd’s bared teeth, and a grin that is as much pain as it is bravado.

But he hadn’t expected Grayson’s fingers to still as if he was stunned. Jason hadn’t thought Todd would lift his head from Grayson’s safety and stare Jason down. The brand stands out against his skin, moving when he speaks. “I didn’t die.”

Jason stares at Todd who vibrates with frustration. Under all the anger, though, he looks fragile again. And that’s what Jason is afraid of.

Behind Todd, Grayson looks at a loss for what to do. He curls his fingers around the counter and holds on until his knuckles are white. He’s not a harbor to shield either Jason from this conversation. The trauma of this universe is allowed to stare Jason in the face. He isn’t prepared.

“Dick,” Jason calls, voice strained. He surprises himself. But in the face of his own, wrecked face, looking like Jason will have to see him fall apart again? Jason’s desperate for Dick to save him from it. “I know you’re awake. Get the hell in here.”

“What do you mean I died?” Todd demands. “I didn’t die.”

Dick appears in the kitchen with his gauntlet in hand having been tinkering with the channel. Every second in this place makes him that much more desperate to get home. Hearing the desperation in Jason’s voice drives the point deeper. He takes in the scene, Jason’s fingers trembling, the horror reflected in his own face, and this universe’s Jason looming tall and vengeful in the emotional chaos. He steps between the two, giving Jason his back to bide time, to shelter him.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s not the same here. I can’t—” Jason feels helpless. It feels like someone else reaches out and turns off the burner before slumping against the counter, head in their hands. But it’s his hands that press hard against his eyes.

“Jason,” Grayson says. His tone is pleading. “He didn’t, right? He didn’t kill you?”

“That piece of shit kept me and tortured me. But he didn’t kill me.”

Todd stays standing, defiant. Jason, though, shudders.

Dick asks, “What happened?”

How Todd looks at Jason is cold, detached. He watches Jason run his hands over his face before finally moving to stare right back. He looks out of it to Dick, slumped against the counter.

“What always happens?” Jason asks, answering for Todd. “The Joker.”

How tired he sounds. Dick is at a loss. Wrecked over them and equally unprepared to hear the details. But Jason called for him, so if he can bear at least some of this for Jason. He’ll do it.

“He caught me when I went into Arkham after him.” Todd says, detached. “He kept hurting people without even leaving the asylum, and I was a stupid fucking kid who thought he could stop him.”

Jason knows how this story ends. Except he doesn’t and each word Todd utters raises ghosts in Jason’s mind.

“I spent a year of hell in Arkham Asylum. He beat me, he tortured me. He marked me.” Todd touches his cheek looking defiant and Jason’s face grows hot remembering the flames licking his skin. “But he didn’t kill me.”

Grayson reaches for Todd. His fingers clutch and his eyes crawl over Todd’s face as if seeing him for the first time. “You didn’t die?” he asks. He sounds small, sitting on the counter.

“No. I’m alive. I crawled out of there on my own. I survived. And he’s fucking dead.” Todd says this to the room.

He thaws when he looks at Grayson. “Hey, Dick. Come on,” he says.

“Just, just give me a moment, Jay.”

Todd doesn’t. Tucks himself around Grayson. He hesitates for only a second before cupping Grayson’s face in his hands and tilting up his face, running gentle hands over his crestfallen face.

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m okay, D.,” Todd says. “I’m alive. You found me.”

“I didn’t stop looking, I swear to you, Jay, even after the tape.” Grayson shakes his head, he grasps, fingers curling tight on Todd’s arms. “You didn’t die.”

“I didn’t die. I’m alive.” 

“Then why does he say—”

“Because I did die,” Jason snaps. “I was captured by the Joker. I was forced conscious so I could feel every bone in my body break under that crowbar. I watched the timer count down and was glad that no one came through the door then because the explosion. I didn’t want. I was.” He stops, choking on fury at that kid, the stupid fucking kid he used to be. “I woke up in my grave. I dug my way out.”

Dick wants to turn to him, but he doesn’t, not when Jason steps close behind him and he feels the cold heat of his body, feels the way his chest shakes with each ragged breath.

“I thought that was the worst thing. I thought it was. But you.” Jason scrubs a hand over his eyes. “You killed him. You put that bastard in the ground?” He sounds so hopeful.

Todd grimaces then, the fight not dying but banking. He half turns away from them all.

Grayson answers for him. “There was a toxin. Joker died from the effects of it.”

A beat of silence. Then Jason curses. “Fuck.” He laughs as he says it. It’s an unkind laugh. Dick is expecting it when Jason curses again. This time it’s more of a yell, the anger shaking through him. “A fucking toxin? He just got sick and died?”

Jason says, “I can’t fucking deal with this.” He storms out.

“I’m going to go after him,” Dick says softly. And mostly to the air. Grayson and Todd don’t react to him, already caught up in each other again. Todd pulls Grayson from the counter and into his arms, arms a tight bracket around him. It looks like he’s just holding on as Grayson starts to sway unexpectedly.

“You found me. You didn’t give up on me,” Todd says softly into Grayson’s hair. And Dick makes a slow retreat for the door too. He thinks, as he watches Todd whisper to Grayson, that maybe he can’t handle this either.

On the roof, Jason leans against the wall. There’s ash and butts on the ledge where he’s standing. It answers Dick’s questions of where Jason went the night before.

Dick goes to stand before Jason. Looking at Jason, eyes closed, and head tipped against the bricks, Dick thinks this place is taking a toll on him, one deeper than even last night suggested. Jason’s chest rises with even, purposeful breathing. Something in Dick yearns to move toward him. Thinking about what Grayson said, Dick decides to let that urge lead the way.

When he’s close enough that he can reach out, and can speak softly but still be heard, Dick asks, “What can I do?”

Jason opens his eyes slowly. They’re wet and so bright, so green in this light. His voice is hoarse when Jason tries to lie. “I’m fine. Just give me a moment, Dick.”

“Jason,” Dick says. He’s careful. Forces himself not to touch just yet. He thinks about Grayson’s advice, about letting Jason be real.

“Please,” Dick says. “How can I help?”

His fingers barely brush Jason’s shoulder, but it’s like permission. Jason’s hand reaches out, in a quick snap of a movement. He catches Dick by the small of his back and pulls him in close. He hesitates then leans in to bury his face against Dick’s neck. And shudders in Dick’s arms.

“Sorry,” Jason mumbles. “Just. Give me a moment.” He says again. Except Dick can feel his lips move against the collar of the borrowed shirt, almost touching bare skin.

“It’s okay, Jay. I’m here.”

His shirt gets pulled to the side and he feels the heat of Jason’s cheek against his skin. He brushes a shaking, hesitant hand over Jason’s hair while the other grips the stupid gauntlet in his hand and Jason’s shirt pulling them together tightly. Feels Jason’s arms squeeze him a little in return. When Jason feels to be letting him go, Dick holds him back hard. Each time it must reassure Jason that he doesn’t have to let go, that they aren’t on a time table, because he holds on.

Dick waits before asking him anything else. But there’s a tightness in his chest that has nothing to do with the way Jason is holding him and everything to do with the raw pain he’d seen on Jason’s face downstairs.

When he calls Jason’s name he feels fingers curl in his shirt.

“Jason.”

Jason looks up, and he’s pulling Dick in toward him. He gets his height advantage back over Dick. Looks down at him, face still so close. Jason licks his lips. Dick feels butterflies in his stomach. Dick slides his arms around to hold onto Jason’s biceps and rises just a little on his bare feet.

“You’re doing it again,” Jason whispers, and this time Dick doesn’t look away, only continues staring with the faintest smile brushing his mouth.

“I know.”

“Why are you looking me like that, Dickie?”

Dick’s hands slide up steadying himself and Jason in this warm cocoon they share. “Because I see you,” he says simply. “Just you.”

It’s the kind of earnest sentiment that makes even the greatest hero stand taller, or the darkest villain pause if only for a moment and wonder what it would be to walk in the light. Jason feels a knot in his chest and thinks, _I’m in love with Dick Grayson_.

When they kiss, it’s soft. A brush of lips then the press of intent. Jason holds Dick as close as he can without hurting him. Dick for his part arches against him, lashes sweeping down and then up again when Jason lifts his head again.

“What do you want, Jason?” Dick asks.

“I want to go home.”

Soft, “Me too.”

There’s a sound like thundering booming. And suddenly strands of dark magic begin to swirl around their feet. It brings with it a cold breeze, and they shiver as the crash happens again. As he had in the universe with Father Todd, Klarion appears through a magic causeway ripped from the universe. But he looks more worn and frenzied than before.

Dick holds on tighter to Jason.

Klarion whips his head around, searching the sky around them like he’s being hunted. He’s scuffed, and his clothing his torn. When he sets eyes on Jason and Dick, however, fury comes over his face.

“Not you two, again.”

His hands light up with magic, but before he can attack something seems to startle him. Jason’s arm wraps around Dick’s shoulders and he reaches for the gun that’s absent from his belt. He remembers he’s not wearing pants, let alone a belt. Or holsters. Fear strikes him as he watches Klarion whirl around, searching the sky as his hands glow with the purple, shocking magic that sent them here.

“I see you’ve found me again, witch!” Klarion screams at the sky. “But I have found you too!”

In an instant, brilliant purple light floods the sky.

When it clears, the rooftop is empty.


	11. Chapter 11

Dick doesn't know when he closed his eyes, but he did. There’s a swooping sensation in his stomach; he’s rarely felt afraid of falling but he does now. It feels like they’re dropping into an abyss, and he knows it’s going to be a new unknown. After the last universe, Dick doesn’t know if he’s ready for any more surprises. The only thing grounding him is their hold on each other, and it’s bruising, how hard Dick is holding onto Jason's arms.

Then he hears Klarion yelling unintelligibly, and just as suddenly, Dick’s feet jar against the floor. When he opens his eyes there’s concrete solid under their feet, open wires and piping above their heads. The gusts of wind he felt whipping around their bodies just moments before are gone, replaced by the intermittent breeze of an uninsulated building. By the holes in the walls and the glassless windows, Dick assumes that they’re in an abandoned high rise.

The room they’re in, though, is suffocating with Klarion’s magic.

“You two! This is all your fault!” Klarion yells, skin turning rapidly blue. Power radiates from him in thick, purple waves. “I should have obliterated the two of you when I had my chance, and sent your pieces flying to the four corners lest you reassemble to vex me more.”

He is too wrapped up in his wrath to notice the shadow detach itself from the ceiling. It spreads long wings, pinion feathers extending like storm clouds, before taking to the air and diving with the open mouth of a bird toward Klarion, maw open and silent as death.

“In every world you are a thorn in my side, Nightwing, but when combined with this wretched piece of chaos,” Klarion jabs his finger at Jason, “You are insufferable. And now his aura has tampered with my spell. I can’t escape it or you! But if I get rid of you permanently this time, I’ll be able to escape the other wretched birds hunting me!”

Klarion rises to his toes when he sees the black magic rushing to consume him completely. It drags him toward the floor. Klarion screams a curse, which turns to a long, shrieking spell, but it does not work. The shadow drags him down through the stone.

And then they’re gone.

Jason stares at the spot where Klarion once stood, where in one fell swoop the hope of being rescued from this nightmare disappeared.

“Jason,” Dick calls to him.

He’s holding Dick close, can feel Dick’s breath against his skin as Dick leans into his hold, staring just as numbly. Cold fingers press against Jason’s skin. Those fingers apply pressure again and Jason realizes it’s meant to be a reassuring gesture. But it feels a thousand miles away from where he is in his head. Like the nerves are sending the signal to his brain from light years away. _This is touch, this is touch_ , they’re screaming, but it’s taking too long to reach Jason to shake him.

“What are we going to do?” Dick asks.

Jason's throat feels parched and he thinks if he tried to speak that it will come out in a soft, pained gasp. Dick's arms feel comforting around his shoulders, and that kiss had been nice, but it couldn’t push the horror of that previous world from his mind.

The night before in that other, darker universe Jason had sat on the roof smoking cigarettes and shivering. It had been better than feeling sick with anger. He hadn’t thought it could get worse than seeing that “J” branded into Todd’s skin. That symbol for the nightmares that still plague him.

Jason hadn’t thought there could be a fate worse than death for him, but Klarion’s magic had challenged that, and had presented for him a stilted, tortured version of himself. A Robin that the Joker had kept alive. A world where Batman had fallen. Realizing that in the face of Todd’s righteous anger had made Jason sick to his stomach.

Jason coughs to clear his throat. Dick runs his fingers down Jason’s arms and the feeling of skin on skin makes Jason shudder. It’s too much right now. He presses gently at Dick’s shoulders, creates space between them.

“We need to get out of here,” Jason says. He forces himself to assess the room searching for the exit, the unlikely entrances, the looming dark, places to hide, regroup, escape.

There’s a sound under the rattling of industrial pipes. They both tense, unsure what it is.

Robin appears out of the shadows, a small light in his hand. He flashes it over them, and his mouth parts to release a quiet gasp seeming just as surprised to see them as Jason and Dick are to see Robin as a young man, tall with dark hair and a leather coat over the red chest armor and the unmistakable “R.”

“What are you doing here?” he whispers harshly, Gotham accent curling around the words and revealing his identity.

This Robin is Jason’s age. This Robin is Jason’s height. This Robin, Jason closes his eyes for a moment knowing that this is inexplicably him. In another life, in another time, a Jason Todd who stays Robin. A Jason Todd who gets to stay partnered with Batman. It’s the emotional whiplash to go from a world where Jason Todd lived in torturous pain for over a year to a Jason who might have escaped the Joker’s cursed touch entirely. Because that’s what it means to still be Robin, to shift his stance in a way that is all Bruce and eye them from behind the black domino. He looks wholly the part of a good soldier.

Jason wonders for one painfully fleeting moment, what this Jason had done to avoid that fate. Did he talk to Bruce? Maybe this Jason didn’t have that fear in his chest that he was failing Bruce, failing to meet the ridiculous standards of his predecessor. Maybe this Jason went to the old man with his worries, his fears, his need to save his family the same way Bruce had saved him. Because what good is being a hero if you can’t save someone you love? That’s what Robin did. And this guy is still Robin, still standing by Bruce’s side, still fighting the good fight, still a hero.

It’s not like Jason doesn’t know that some of his pain and need for attention comes from that Robin place, from the way he’d so quickly been replaced. More of it than he wants to admit. And that's angry, embarrassing, and frightening. It hurts to breathe again, to see a version of him that got to keep that. This is all too much, Jason doesn’t know if he can handle anymore.

Suddenly the radio gasps to life and Tim calls through the channel, saying they’ve caught Klarion. Robin looks startled, and fearful, looking around their surroundings warily.

“What is that?” Robin asks, jabbing his hand at Dick. “Shut it off.” He reaches for the gauntlet blinking in Dick’s hand like a beacon.

A knife flies out of the darkness toward Robin. It misses by a breath and embeds with a force in the wall on the far side of the room. It was too close to be an accident. As Robin curses, spinning toward the darkening shadows, a figure rushes toward them. The hood and goggles are familiar. It’s the same figure that had chased Klarion into Father Todd’s church flying out of the shadows. And he is aiming straight for Robin, blades swinging as his target ducks and rolls out of the way. Robin spins, back protectively to the wall, barely missing the open window covered only by a plastic sheeting.

Talon rises from his crouch on the concrete where Robin had been seconds before. As he turns toward the group and he hisses, “You were warned, little bird! You should not have come here.”

The goggles appear to face Jason. Talon’s hands twist the blades between his fingers in a way that draws Jason’s attention and fills him with a familiar sense of danger. And Jason thinks he might as well be naked for all the good his borrowed clothing will do.

Talon twists the blades again, and Jason knows that move. Is sure of it when Talon moves forward impossibly fast, one hand swinging in a hook motion, blade out toward Jason’s neck. Jason blocks it with both hands, knocking Talon’s arm away with enough force that Talon stumbles back.

The hand that hadn’t struck at him spins the blade between his fingers. Talon tips his head to the side and after staring Jason down from head to toe, asks, “What brings two birds to my nest?”

He spins the blade again and from Jason’s side he hears Dick whisper a curse.

Then the blade stops abruptly. Talon’s demeanor shifts, and Jason can feel himself shift in reaction, stance widening to put his body between Talon’s blades and Dick.

“Jason—” Dick starts to say from behind him.

There’s a yell and Robin dives in, interrupting Talon’s strike. He goes low forcing Talon to jump back to maintain his footing. Dick rushes forward legs lifting in series of powerful snap kicks. Talon avoids two, but stumbles into the last when Robin rushes him from the opposite side. Teeth bared, Talon swings a knife towards Dick, who is too close to dodge. Robin jerks Dick back and the knife sweeps through his thin tee barely kissing the skin.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Robin shouts. He shoves Dick aside. “You’re not dressed for this dance, so, stay out of it.”

“I’d love to,” Dick says, dodging another sweeping blow. “But this guy is really insistent." The talon snarls at them, then breaks suddenly lunging toward Jason with a frustrated scream.

“Look out,” Robin cries leaping forward. He swings a bird-a-rang as he flies in, knocking one of the blades from Talon’s hands before their bodies make impact. The move must surprise Talon because he hits the ground with Robin atop him, taking a swinging punch at his face, goggles knocking askew before he locks arms and legs around Robin. He rolls them, forced to block continued blows as he straddles the boy wonder.

“I know who you are!” Robin yells, knee-lifting as he bucks and shoves. He gets one hand on the partially removed hood and goggles and rips them free from Talon’s face entirely.

Talon swings his blade, catching Robin’s arm with a shallow cut through his armorless bicep, before stabbing at Robin’s cape. The knife fails to catch on the resistant concrete and Talon abandons it for the motion of catching Robin’s wrists and pinning him to the ground.

“I would think you know me,” Talon says. “Our missions are connected. Yours to kill me as much as mine is to kill that Bat, the Bruce Wayne.”

“I’m not trying to kill you,” Robin hollers. “I’m trying to save you, asshole!” He kicks out, knocking Talon to the side. Another swift kick sends Talon prone onto his back. Robin dives at him yelling, “I know who you were before they fucked with your head.”

Jason and Dick can see Talon’s bare face now. And the revelation of Dick’s face staring up at Robin, furious and so pale they can see every blue vein beneath his skin. Without the hood, long, dark hair curls down Talon’s shoulders, and falls into his eyes. And his eyes.

They glitter gold as he glares up at Robin and growls back, “I am Talon!”

“You’re Richard Grayson!” this universe’s Jason screams in his face. “You’re still in there!”

Talon yells wordlessly back, scratching at Robin. The grapple across the floor grunting and dislodging bits of their suits in an effort to gain the upper hand. Talon’s bandolier falls with a clatter. Robin’s utility belt is yanked clean off in retaliation. It gets thrown away from their bodies toward the door. Jason turns and sees a small figure there, sneakers edging into the light of the room.

And Dick sees Talon punch Robin in the gut, knocking the wind from him. The next few blows come rapid and without resistance as Robin tries to roll free. Talon doesn’t let him, he follows Robin back and pummels him with blows.

Robin’s head bounces off the ground once and he goes still. But Talon doesn’t seem to notice.

Dick dives in. This time Dick is lethal, quiet, and gets in Talon’s face. He catches Talon’s arm and twists, rolling them across the ground until Talon is entrapped by his body and twists in vain against the leg-lock Dick’s uses to restrain him.

“Easy, buddy,” Dick says. “We’re not here to fight.”

“So, they send you instead. A false face to replace me.” Talon hisses. He frees an elbow and throws a glancing blow to Dick’s temple. It hurts but not enough for Dick to let Talon go. Jason is with him and takes Talon’s free arm and wrenches it backwards.

“Cool it, asshole,” Jason growls.

A very young looking Tim calls out from the doorway, “Don’t hurt him!”

Jason’s head snaps up. “Don’t hurt him? Geez, kid, why don’t you put in a good word for us instead, huh?”

Jason doesn’t mean to make Tim flinch. He bites back another mean retort and looks to Dick for help here. He’s already over his head, having to hold Talon so hard that his knuckles are white, or his hands might shake.

Dick is more careful with his words. “Hey, Tim, right?” Watches this version of his younger brother stare at him suspiciously.

“Tim Drake?” Dick tries. He wants to sound like he’s guessing, but the resemblance between himself and Talon is undeniable. Tim has always been a smart kid, and the furrow of his brow means he’s jumping to conclusions. But Dick can feel Talon still thrashing, relentless in his attempt to get free and fight them, so he doesn’t have time to explain. “You’re here with him, yeah? I’m guessing Talon’s been taking care of you?”

Tim nods and that’s all Dick needs.

To Talon, Dick says, “We aren’t here for him. Tim is okay, we aren’t going to hurt him.”

It takes a moment, but the thrashing subsides, and Talon goes still in their hold. He turns his head and Dick stares, unnerved into those golden eyes, aware of the medical experimentation that Talon’s undergone to get them. Dick uses all his training under Bruce in compartmentalization not to follow that trail of thought. Of the breaking of his mind and dehumanizing him. Of the treatments and the training. Of the Court winning and controlling his body like a marionette. Of the strength it would take to fight it.

“If we let you go—”

“Let him go?” Jason interrupts. “What the hell, Dickie?”

“Yes. Let him go,” Dick says, addressing Jason while staring into Talen’s eyes.

“Why?” asks Talon. “I have failed to kill the Bat twice now. And you wear my face. If you kill me now, you will become Talon.”

“Because we’re not here for you or Tim. And I will never be Talon,” Dick vows. “We’re trying to find our way home. And one of us needs to check on Robin,” Dick adds for Jason.

Talon rolls his shoulders and turns his head in a fashion that looks more than a little unnatural. “This is my home,” he whispers.

“All the more reason for us to leave it, don’t you think? I let you go and we’ll do that. But don’t cross us. I protect what I love too,” Dick whispers, and something in his voice must resonate because Talon nods once, eyes fierce.

Dick and Jason stand gingerly, creating a careful triangle with Dick near the wall and Jason near the door to prevent escape. Talon stands as well.

“See. We can be civil to one another. We can trust that none of us wants things to go badly here.” Dick moves his hand slowly pointing to where Robin lies unconscious. “Jay, can you check on Robin?”

Jason skirts around slowly keeping his hands in front of him while Talon hisses softly, watching them all with suspicious eyes.

“He’s just going to check his head,” Dick calls, keeping his voice soothing. “Then we can take him to get help.”

“No,” says Talon. “He will bring trouble with him. He will bring the Bat.”

“Has he brought Batman here before?” Dick asks.

Talon drags fingers through his unruly hair. “No,” he concedes. “But he is trouble. The little bird chases me always. He says he knows me, but he does not know me.”

“I understand that more than you’d believe,” Dick says wryly, but continues when Talon’s face tightens. “What doesn’t he know?”

“That he will die if he continues this. Serving the Bat. Searching for the court. Stalking me.” Talon’s fingers clench into fists. “He is prey. He should not hunt. He should not care. He should not hope. They are weaknesses that consume you. They are the very things that will kill you. Just like they killed Richard Grayson,” he says those words softly.

Dick takes a cautious step forward. “So, you do remember that name. What else do you remember, Talon?”

Talon shakes himself. “I am Talon. I have no memories.”

“Robin’s going to be alright,” Jason says into that pause. He folds the jacket beneath Robin’s head for support and climbs back to his feet. “He’s going to have a raging headache when he wakes up. We’ll have to check him for a concussion and the usual, but he’ll be okay with time.”

It doesn’t escape Dick’s notice when Talon glances at Robin’s prone body then, a flicker of satisfaction on his face.

“Did you try and put Robin out of commission?” Dick asks. Talon’s eyes fly to his wide with guilt. “You did, didn’t you? What aren’t you telling us, Talon?”

“I am Talon. I have no voice.”

“Stop it,” Dick snaps. “Is something supposed to happen to the Bat soon?” He watches Talon shiver then curl as if preparing to attack, then Talon turns, hair flaring out and he hisses again. “We can help you, but you have to talk to us, Talon. Are you protecting Robin like you’re protecting Tim?”

“You ask too many questions.” Talon says abruptly. “You search for weakness. You seek to use it against me.”

“I want to help you,” Dick insists.

“Lies.” Talon turns toward Dick, and Jason watches his hands twist, weaponless, but Jason’s too slow to act on the clue. “I don’t know why they would send you,” Talon is saying. “But I won’t go back.”

Dick opens his mouth to speak but there’s no time. Talon shoves him hard through that open window. He gasps as his fingers slide on the plastic, unable to get a hold. He falls back into the Gotham air. He’d said, when they were in Gotham’s past, they were so far down the rabbit hole, they couldn’t fall any further. As it turns out, it’s a long way to go.

“Throw me that belt, kid,” Jason says coldly, to Tim. He stares at Talon, watches him turn and time isn’t going slow enough. Every half second Jason is losing Dick. But he wishes there was time to make Talon bleed. Even if it’s Dick’s face, Jason wants to make him hurt.

Tim fumbles the belt as he picks it up but manages to race it over to Jason. In the count in his head, Jason’s gotten to five.

He takes the belt, slinging it around his shoulder as he races for the window and dives into the night.

He chases Dick like he’s always had, a desperate anger and fear freewheeling through him, and the knowledge that he can do this. He can do this. He can save the one person who never stops reaching for him. He can save Dick.

The wind screeches in Jason’s ears. His heart pounds in his chest when he realizes Dick is staring up at him, staring up while his body hurtles down towards the ground. His hand shoots out grasping for Dick’s outstretched fingers, brushing and then connecting. He yanks Dick against him, aims the grapple, hopes.

And when the sky beneath them unfolds revealing a ring of deep magic, Jason closes his eyes knowing all the hope he’ll ever need is in his arms.


	12. Chapter 12

The sounds of a city snaps back into existence and it's almost deafening. When Dick opens his eyes, they're in Gotham but the buildings are taller than he remembers. He turns and stares at the neon all around, the impossible future he'd guess they're in, and feels something hot and heavy like grief in his stomach. He'd hoped, oh he'd hoped—

“Fuck, Dickie, I thought. I thought.” Jason’s voice trails away. Dick is hyper-aware of Jason’s breath, his proximity, and the heat and weight of his hand still on Dick’s hip. Of how it’s just the briefs between his skin and Jason’s. Of how it felt when the world narrowed to Jason’s face, the determination and pain in his eye.

Jason looks at him. “I didn’t think at all.”

Dick curls his hands into Jason’s unruly hair and presses their foreheads together. “Thank you, little wing,” he whispers.

They stand for long moments. Together, alive, hearts racing.

“Where do you think we are now?” Dick asks, pulling away to look at their surroundings. “Other than in the middle of the street?”

“I don’t know,” Jason says. “But it’s not Gotham City.” He points at the skyline, sleeker, darker, and nothing he’s ever seen before.

“New Gotham,” calls a voice. “So, close.”

That hand on Dick’s hip pushes him gently back, and Jason steps oh so slightly ahead of him. Chest out, a bigger, badder target. It breaks Dick’s heart a little bit.

“Stop that,” he teases. It takes intention to do so, his throat still hurts like he might weep. “Did you forget who trained who?”

Jason snorts. “That’s it. Undermine the unified front. And it’s ‘whom’.”

There might have been more from Dick’s end, but a shadow detaches itself from the building in front of them and glides down.

“This is new,” says Jason. “Hello.” His forehead creases as he puzzles out the strange hero standing before them. It’s a bat, obviously. “Hello, Batman?”

Batman lands lightly before them wearing a flat matte black that seems to swallow all the light around him. It stretches over his entire body broken only by the red bat-crest on his chest and the high glow of his lenses. “Hello strangely young Red Hood and Nightwing. You are both blowing my mind right now.” He waves his hand at their attire. “Don’t know why you’re running around in underwear though.”

Dick considers this cowl and this Batman. Finally, he shrugs, dropping his defensive stance. “It’s a long story. And I don’t feel like fighting like this again.”

The laughter that spills from Batman’s mouth is surprisingly, _startlingly_ young and not at all familiar. “You?” he asks pointing at Dick. “Not up to a fight? What bizarro world are you from?”

“He might be,” Jason says. “But I’m not. Who are you, kid, and where did you steal that suit?”

“I didn’t steal it.” Batman sounds fairly affronted by the idea.

A motorcycle roars their way. It slides sideways into a stop not far from them. A man climbs off, wearing a red mask, like a futuristic motorcycle helmet, but Dick and Jason know already who it has to be. Because this spell of Klarion's isn't done with them yet.

“Evening Terry. I’ll take care of this," the man says. His voice is gruff, deeper than either Dick or Jason are expecting. When he takes the mask off sure enough there's Jason's face - older and with salt and pepper hair and that one streak of pure white right over his forehead. He gives them a wry grin.

Batman, or Terry, cocks his head. “No names in the field, Hood. N’s orders.”

Hood’s grin grows. “We’re following orders today, huh? I don’t think you need to worry about that right now. Probably don’t need to worry about these two either. You can run along, I’ll take care of them.”

“I’m supposed to wait for the temporal creodine levels to reach zero,” Terry says stiffly. “N’s orders.”

“N’s orders,” Hood chimes in. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He cups his chin as if thinking. “Well, here’s one for you, _B_. Patrol the Narrows one more time before heading in for the night.” He flips Dick a quick wink. “School in the morning, you know how it is.

“We’ll have to borrow your Bat-cycle though, Terry,” Hood adds, after assessing both Jason and Dick.

There’s a distinct silence from Batman whose eyes narrow into slits. “Fine,” he mutters. “Batman out.” He takes a step back and the suit shimmers, blending into crisp street around them in a smooth blur.

Then as Batman had become uncloaked, a motorcycle appears from the shadows of a nearby alley. It’s like an older version of Jason’s bike only fitted with future tech—no wheels but a spinning disc. Jason feels a bit like they’ve landed in Tron.

“Attaboy,” Hood says. He pulls a curved disk from his pocket. It’s lined with a chrome ring. He presses it and it begins to expand upwards. A glowing ball begins weaving back and forth. Jason whistles, recognizing the helmet base forming within seconds before their eyes. When it’s finished, Hood holds it out to Dick, who looks startled by the black polymer. “Here,” he says. “You can ride with me, because I don’t think hoodless over there can handle the changes we’ve made.”

Jason bristles. “Whatever, Old Hood. If it’s got two wheels and an engine, I can ride it.”

“Gray mares,” Hood says. “They ain’t what they used to be.” He tosses a second helmet to Jason. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Helmet on, Jason straddles the motorcycle, body stretched to reach the handgrips. He’s enthralled and trying to figure out the tech. He tests the handling, drives to the end of the street, turns and idles waiting for them.

“Here.” Hood is holding out his jacket. “Don’t want you to get cold on the way there.”

Dick hesitates. He tries not to think about cold fingers on his skin and how close Jason had stood.

How close they’ve come.

Dick tells himself that he reaches for the jacket because he’s got goose-bumps across his arms, and a shiver running up his back. He doesn’t want to freeze on the back of the bike. Except the jacket is heavy on his shoulders, and just a little broader than Dick would wear if it was his. It’s black with heavy metal zippers, but more than that it’s still warm from Hood’s body. Dick folds his arms over his chest to keep the warmth in.

Hood smiles at Dick. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s catch up to your Jason before he crashes that bike.”

They zip through the city with Dick’s arms around Hood’s waist. He’s solid and when he shifts, he says which direction they’ll need to lean just loud enough for Dick to hear over the engine. They lean together, and Dick is keenly aware of his body where he’s pressed to Hood’s by necessity. And he wishes it was Jason.

Even with the helmet, Dick feels the need to turn his face against Hood’s back. He pretends it’s because he’s tired and watching the city zoom by makes his head hurt. But from this angle he can see when Jason accelerates and draws shoulder to shoulder with Hood. Then he’ll drop speed falling back, just the bright light from his front lamp fading in Dick’s peripheral.

They arrive in a section of Gotham that seems familiar. Stone buildings, wide streets, and Wayne Tower visible between to the west.

Hood drives around a building with a big inconspicuous sign on the side that read Grayson Gymnastic’s overlooking an alleyway. In the alley, he presses a button on the handlebars of the bike. What looks like a futuristic garage door lifts where plain pavement had once appeared to be. Hood steers them down the ramp and into the building. The rumble of another bike on their heels and the bounce of a headlight behind them reassures Dick that Jason has followed.

They take an elevator up from a sub-basement with at least as many vehicles as the Bat-cave has housed, all the way up to a penthouse.

When they get in the door, neither Dick or Jason are surprised to see Dick Grayson waiting. He’s older as well, with graying hair combed carefully back off his face, and a black patch nestled over one eye. But life has been kind in other ways. Few lines mar his face and he’s holding a cup of tea when they walk through the door, a bright smile on his face.

Hood walks in. “Hi, honey, I’m home.”

His hand immediately going to Grayson’s waist as he kisses Grayson’s cheek in greeting. Grayson keeps his one eye on Jason and Dick standing in the doorway. Jason doesn’t react, somehow not the slightest bit surprised.

“Looks like you’ve brought strays home,” Grayson says.

Hood hums in affirmation. “I know. It’s usually the other way around. Do you think we can keep them?” He takes the mug of tea out of Grayson’s hands. Grayson doesn’t protest.

Hood waves them into the living room. “Sit down,” he says. “You two look like you could use use some time off your feet.”

“Yeah,” Dick says. It’s been a long day.” He nudges Jason and they sit next to each other on the couch.

“So how did you guys wind up here?” Hood asks. “Zeta malfunction? Or was Bruce working on his interdimensional portals again?”

Dick sits down cautiously. “Magic,” he says. “We were having a discussion in the middle of Klarion’s big showdown and he didn’t appreciate our colorful commentary. But it sounds like you’re familiar with the whole dimension hopping thing.”

“We’ve had some experience,” Grayson says. “But it’ll be better if you tell us about your own. Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

So, Dick talks. It takes the better part of an hour to describe it all. He wishes his voice sounded stronger as he spoke, but he’s hyper-aware of Jason’s thigh pressed against his. He doesn’t mean to focus on the way Jason’s leg is bobbing in agitation. He stammers when Jason’s knee knocks against the coffee table, spilling tea at the first mention of the other world counterparts, of what had happened with Red. It happens again, though less dramatically at the mention of Hoodlum and Father Todd, so it seems natural to Dick to rest his hand on Jason’s thigh before he mentions Todd.

He catches this older Grayson watching them, gaze traveling up from Dick’s hand to his face. And Dick flushes.

“And then Jason flew through the window after me. My personal hero,” Dick continues, unaware of how red Jason’s ears get at the words. “We fell into another portal and wound up here.”

“That sounds like a rough ride,” Hood says.

“Informative, too,” Grayson adds. “We’ve never encountered something like your Court of Owls. We’ll keep an eye out though just to be sure.

“But you have done the interdimensional travel thing?” Jason asks.

Hood and Grayson exchange a look. “Not us specifically, no,” Grayson says. “But the league did some time ago. They encountered some very dangerous versions of themselves and other heroes. You should be wary, in case your journey doesn’t end. And if you hear the names, ‘Justice Lords,’ you’re in a very bad place.”

Dick nods then glances at Jason who nudges his leg again. There’s a question in his eyes and then Jason looks down at Dick’s wrist. He nods facing themselves. “You guys seem to know a lot about this. And the creodine spikes. Other worlds. If I gave you a frequency, could you broadcast a message for us?”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” says Grayson. “We can do you one better, though, if B’s out of the cave. We might be able to send you home.”

“Before you get to all that maybe we could get these boys some clothes,” Hood says.

Jason looks up from his lap. “Just tell me one thing before we get started,” he says, eyes heavy on Hood. “That kid, Terry. He’s not your son, is he?” Dick looks up to find Jason staring at his fists.

“Jay,” he murmurs.

“I need to know, Dickie. It’s not like you didn’t have that kind of revelation. I just. I just want to know.”

A light of understanding dawns in Hood’s eyes. He stands slowly and gestures back towards the hallway. “I’m going to take the young gun here to the garage for a second. Trade secrets.”

Jason stands. His only acknowledgement of Dick’s murmured protest is to squeeze his hand. They disappear through the doorway.

“It’s going to be alright,” Grayson says, reassuringly. “Jaybird isn’t going to hurt him.”

Dick shakes his head before the protest hits him. “I’m not worried about that,” he says.

“Alright then,” Grayson says. He leans forward resting his elbows on his knees and watches Dick try to keep his gaze from the door. “You don’t have any questions for me?” He finally asks, a wry grin on his face.

“Sorry, no. Not really.”

“Not even one?” Grayson asks. “You sure your name is Dick Grayson?” The disbelief in his voice is enough to get Dick to smile.

“It’s just been a long, long trip. I really don’t have any questions. I wouldn’t even know what to ask.” His voice trails away and the chill in the air is more pronounced without Jason there beside him.

He doesn’t want to feel alone. The thought is stray, a flicker gone in instant, but something in Dick resonates at the idea. Resonates at the desire to have Jason beside him.

This need for Jason. It feels sudden and at the same time, inevitable. Not because of the worlds they’ve traversed and the strange bloom of love they’ve witnessed. It feels like a culmination of little things, a change between them that had started before Dick himself even started to change, bend. But he can see it now. The tension mounting between them. How their touches come so easily. A small part of him worries though, that it’s because they’re both a little touch-starved.

Suddenly, surprising himself, Dick asks, “Do I want Jason because I want Jason, or do I want Jason because everybody else has this perfect home in him and I want that too?”

“Yes,” Grayson says. He’s kind as he explains, “It’s not as simple as it sounds, making your home in another person, but it can be done. And let me tell you, this one is worth it.”

Dick falters. “But I’m not.”

Grayson pins him in place with a hard stare. “I know it seems like a big commitment. And you can’t do it. That you’re . . . we’re not built for it? Can’t have it? But we can. You just have to answer that question of yours. Do you want Jason Todd?”

Dick thinks about it. He thinks for a long time about where they started, masked and toe-to-toe vibrating with this nameless thing between them. He thinks about how they lost their names, their masks, their uniforms, their way until there was only Dick and Jason leaning against each other in the cold morning light. He thinks about the way his heart raced and the feeling of Jason’s fingertips trembling against his cheeks as he tasted the sorrow and hope in Jason’s kiss. And then realizes that he doesn’t have to think at all because the answer is there on the tip of his tongue, in the unfamiliar smile across his own face.

“Yes. I do. Of course I do. You know I do.”

And Grayson smiles. “I believe you. Now it’s time to believe yourself.”

It jars Dick. After everything they’ve heard and seen, he wasn’t expecting such readied reassurance. Dick doesn’t know how to reply.

Luckily, Grayson seems to read him better than any of the other universe’s have been able. He claps his hands together, breaking the silence and only making Dick jump a little. He smiles, and changes the subject. “Jason suggested getting the two of you new suits. If you want to take a shower while you wait, the bathroom is down the hall. They should be done soon and we can take you to the cave.”

Dick takes a hot shower that does nothing to clear his mind. The remaining conflict isn’t about his desire to be a brother and a friend to Jason, someone Jason can rely on and trust to bring him back to the fold. No, the conflict is in how to say it at all.

Somewhere between rubbing the smokey soap over his skin and letting the hot water wash down his flushed skin, Dick resolved to talk to Jason about everything, to put real words to the feeling inside him and wait for Jason to do the same. Given time, he’s sure they’ll discover who they are to each other now and what they can be together in the future. It could be all the things he’s seen in the past hours traveling between worlds. A second chance, hope, support, a lifeline, a purpose, home; he and Jason have the potential to be all these things and none at all. Dick wants the chance to find out.

He dresses carefully in the suit that Grayson left for him. It had looked like regular, black spandex when it was lying innocently on the bathroom counter. Once he has it on, though he can feel the tech flex. It fits perfectly. And across the chest familiar, and bright blue is his Nightwing emblem. Lastly, he puts on the domino and starts to feel comfortable for the first time since this started.

He can’t find Grayson or either his Jason or the older version. He starts to hover in the empty living room. Finds the balcony to wait on.

“Hey, I found you,” Jason says. He’s standing in the doorway wearing a similar suit to Dick’s, but with a red bat emblazoned on the chest. It’s not Jason’s usual attire, but it suits him.

Dick stands up. He hesitates to move towards Jason, he wants to touch but he’s got so much to say first and no idea where to begin. “Jason . . .”

“That’s my name,” Jason says. He turns towards the cityscape. “We spend a lot of time here, don’t we?”

“On balconies?”

“Above the city, smart ass,” Jason says.

“Yeah, well, being above it all for hours at a time can be a good thing. You gain perspective.”

“Maybe,” says Jason. “But it’s equally as likely to be gained after speaking to yourself from twenty years in the future.”

Dick laughs. “Is that what you got from Jason?”

“Nah,” Jason says. “Old Hood gave me a sandwhich. Infinitely better. And before you ask,” he turns a sly keep smile towards Dick. “Yes, I left you half. And the cookie.”

“And the cookie? Well that must mean that you. You.” Dick looks up at Jason taking in his casual stance, his warmth, his attention focused squarely on Dick with the anger and bitterness blunted, leaving one thing crystal clear. “Jason, I want to ask you something.”

“Whatever it is, yes,” Jason says firmly, stepping close to Dick and taking his hands between his own. Old Man Jason told him to say yes, no matter what. That’s how you deal with Dick Grayson. You meet everything head on, his challenges, his insecurities, his love with open arms and a firm yes.

Dick is filled with this dawning sense of forever and no idea how to tell Jason he wants to share that with him. But he thinks he knows where to start. “I want to know if you care for me, Jay, if you really do.”

The resolve in Jason’s face shifts for a second becoming soft-eyed and vulnerable. “Yes, I do, Dickie,” he says softly. “So much I don’t know what to do with it sometimes. But I can’t keep it locked away anymore. I can’t ignore it. I don’t want to.”

“Okay. Okay,” Dick says feeling a little helpless. “I care about you too, you know. I want to share my secrets with you. I want you to share your secrets with me.”

“Yes, yes.” Pause. “Yes.”

“There’s something inside of me that was moving to this point, Jay,” Dick continues. He’s ramping up to a Titans-esque speech, eyes shining with actual determination. Jason can’t help grinning in the face of it. “I don’t want you to think I’m searching for something I’ve seen here. I’ve been looking for a way to bring you closer to me. I don’t know where it’s going to take us, but I want us to try.

“When we get back, will you come home with me? We can do it right. Date, get to know each other again and see how far we can go. Together.”

“Yes.”

Dick loops his hands behind Jason’s neck. “And I want to kiss you, again,” he whispers against the shape of Jason’s mouth.

“Yes.”

If the first kiss is a declaration, then the second is the blueprint upon which all others will be formed. And this kiss, Dick thinks, opening himself to Jason, is just right. This kiss is his heart, a taste of what they can share, and it’s perfect. Jason groans softly, trying to find a way to pull Dick closer, to ease that tender ache inside him. It’s not enough. He doesn’t think it ever will be. But that’s love inside, always desperate and hoping for more.

The world explodes in a kaleidoscope of color.


	13. Chapter 13

Wrapped up as they are in one another, Dick and Jason miss their arrival to Gotham’s chaotic streets. Blissfully unaware the fighting has turned to cleaning up, they continue their tender kiss. Their hands begin to move, Dick’s curving under Jason’s shoulders to map the shape of his chest and feel the life billowing in and out of his body. Jason brushes Dick’s hair back with his fingers and tilts his head for a deeper kiss. It’s remarkable, Jason thinks, all the strength, command, fire tempered just enough for Jason to hold in his hands, to taste against his tongue.

Dick pulls back for breath, just enough to feel Jason’s lips chase his with a little moan. He hears it then, the vibrating twang of power rings, and Dick tilts his head, following the sound.

The world around them feels real and familiar in a tangible way, from the shafts of sunlight scattering darkened clouds to the way Gotham Tower stands proudly in the city’s center. It appears some time has passed. Constructs of all colors—green, purple, and black—litter the streets. A green fire hose sprays water over burning refuse. Tim, his friends, and half the Green Lantern Corps are cleaning up the streets while Dick and Jason stand in the shadows of a building. They missed a serious battle it seems. Possibly with something that breathes fire.

Dick looks up to find Jason’s eyes on him, smile charged with something he’d never seen before, not from his Jason. The corner of his lip twitches at the idea. His Jason. It means something so much different now, so much more.

“I think we’re back,” Dick says.

Dick reaches out to touch Jason’s cheek. It’s something of a revelation, the way that Jason leans his cheek toward Dick’s hand. That’s nothing in comparison to the butterflies he gets when Jason smiles at him.

Tim whirls and begins running. “You’re back!” Tim skids to stop at their sides. The relief on his face shifts to something more cautious as he eyes their embrace. “And totally normal?”

“We are thanks to you,” Dick says, reaching out to ruffle Tim’s hair. It’s a testament to how stressful their disappearance must have been that Tim not only lets him, he steps into it. “How long were we gone?”

“Nearly an hour,” Tim says. “But your corporeal forms have been uh, locked in that state for awhile now. Klarion said you needed to resolve his spells requirements to fully break it.”

“If I’d known the answer was this easy, I would’ve kissed you ages ago,” Jason tells Dick, and their eyes meet and the air becomes charged all over again.

“There you are,” Hal Jordan flies close and gives them a quick salute. Klarion floats behind him in a green sphere. A pair of silver chains clamp his wrists tight. “Any longer, and we would’ve had to get you a room.”

Dick laughs a little sheepishly, but he doesn’t mind, not when Jason steps close beside him, a warm hand pressed to the small of his back.

“We figured out your spell,” Jason says. “But there’s still an angry Talon out there who said he’s hungry for weak prey.”

Klarion blanches. “Every single one of you is a blight on the earth,” he snarls. “But I especially hate those two.” Klarion jabs his finger at them both then tilts his nose with a delicate sniff. “Take me away.”

“Will we be making any stops on the way to your iron cell?” Hal asks, mildly, but Dick can feel his eyeroll. “Robin, Teen Titans, you did a good job here today. We’ll escort Klarion to Zatanna so Klarion can be transferred to the Dark Tower.”

Jason grins. “That’s the second-best thing I’ve heard all day.”

They watch until Hal disappears, a green spark on the horizon.

There’s a weariness that strikes Dick, usually after a harrowing journey. And he and Jason have been on a journey that stretched both reality and perception and shaken him more than once. But right now, Dick feels excitement buzzing through him, poised on the edge of a wooden platform with the world spread out beneath him and ready to fall.

Nightwing, superhero known for leadership and helpfulness, looks around the scene and asks Robin, “So you all have this covered, right?” And his smile is blinding.

With Tim mildly bewildered but confirming that the scene is under control, Dick grabs Jason by the lapels and starts to pull him toward the Nightwing Cycle. His black and blue gloves have a good grip on Jason’s leather jacket.

When they’re on the bike, tearing out of Gotham and headed back toward the freeway, Jason lets Dick and his enticing smile drive them away. He slips his hands around Dick’s waist, feels the engine roar as Dick revs it. It rumbles through him as he slides closer to Dick. His thighs lean heavy and warm against Dick’s waist. And Dick reaches back to press a hand to his knee in reassurance. He bites his lip, there’s a palpable excitement between them as they wait for the light to change. There’s no more magic commanding their movements. No brawls or sudden falls to throw them circumstantially together. From here on, whatever happens between them, is in their control.

“Is your answer still yes?” Dick asks.

He can feel Jason shift and pull himself closer to Dick’s body. His arms are solid around Dick’s waist, and he feels safe, like when Jason caught him. Against his ear, Jason asks, "Where are you taking me, fly boy?"

“Home,” he whispers, smiling at the press of lips against his jaw.

Dick revs the engine, again, shooting ahead of the other cars as the light turns green.

It’s just the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to our Big Bang artist, Amberdreams for creating such beautiful art! You were a joy to work with and it's so exciting to have the whole project come together! [You can see all the art together here](https://amberdreams.livejournal.com/529964.html)
> 
>  **Empires:** I've got a lot to say....
> 
> To Amber – The art is amazing, and your talents just continue to grow. Thank you for taking a chance on a new fandom and us!
> 
> To Vi – I appreciate your time and your talent so much. Thank you so much for you experience, your eye for detail, and your ability to bring even the most nervous conversations and tentative ideas into tangible, usable, working order. 
> 
> To Pentapoda – You’re the person everyone needs on their team. Knowledgeable, forthright, and able to cut down to the heart of an issue and then establish ways to solve the problem. Criticism is always constructive, and questions are always met with answers. Thank you for your patience with this one!
> 
> To Murderousdeer– Your feedback came at such an amazing time! Just when I felt like my brain was going to boil over with worry, you swept in like a cool breeze and settled so many of my fears. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
> 
> To CarbonJen – I wouldn’t have been able to write this story without sharing your friendship over the roughest patch of life I’ve experienced last year and that’s the truth! Your absolute patience in the face of my prattling on and on about this story without reading it deserves a medal, maybe even the keys to some fantastic city. Instead, you get my clumsy friendship. And you handle that thing with all the grace, advice, and kindness of a true hero, and I heart you greatly because of it. Thank you.
> 
> To K – K. Thank you for suggesting trying the DCU Big Bang together as co-authors. Thank you for remembering the chat that started this whole story literally a year ago. Thank you for not running away when I suggested this story length would go beyond our estimations. Or when I kept suggesting things. Or when I revealed how terrible my writing process really is. Or when I mentioned how I sincerely wanted Dick to make out with everyone. And remember that time I was like, hey, we should add another chapter here...? Yeah. You should’ve totally went running then too! But you didn’t. You accepted the changes, the constructive criticism, and the madness while battling back with your own incredible ideas, your faith, your candor, and all the tender touching between Dick and Jason.
> 
> You are simply a marvelous writer. I knew it the moment you commented on my fic and then I stalked your stories and bemoaned the fact that they are so great but SO FEW! My goal in life has been to coax more fic out of you, come hell or high water. Now we have a novel length fic under our belts, so mission (mostly) accomplished!
> 
> I had an absolute blast writing with you. I will do it again in a heartbeat. And I will constantly hound you (with love), for more of anything you want to bring to this universe we created!
> 
> You - Yes, you, who made it to the end and enjoyed the story enough to peek into these long notes. Thank you for your kudos, your comments, and any emotion you felt while reading. We love them and you so very much! 
> 
> **Salvadore:** Thank you so so much to our lovely betas, we honestly could not have done it without you! Vi thank you for all of your time, you really helped hand-hold both of us from drafts 1 to 2 and I am so grateful for all of your feedback and suggestions. You're such a lovely person and I'm glad working on this fic with Empires meant getting to work with you as well. Pentapoda, thank you so much for your beta - you asked us a lot of hard questions in those early drafts, questions and suggestions we needed to hear. This fic wouldn't be what it is had you not been there to ask. Thank you. Thank you also to Alex for not only an amazing beta at the last minute (because of my scheduling) but also for the hand-holding these last few months when I was anxious or nervous about the scope the fic had taken on. You are wonderful, thank you thank you. That you liked it means a lot to me! And to Empires!! We wrote a fic together!! Can you believe it? Thank you for believing in me and pushing me to be confident about my writing and to share it with the world. I'd say more but we already just wrote 50,000 words!
> 
> It's hard to believe that this was originally just going to be a simple "5 times they might have kissed" tropey fic. When we originally sketched it out we thought it would come in at the minimum requirement of 10K and we'd be done. This first attempt by the two of us at co-authoring together turned into, obviously, something much much bigger. Thank you for making it to the end of this story, we hope you liked it!


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